


Chance Encounter

by suerum



Category: General Hospital
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-10
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suerum/pseuds/suerum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spinelli unexpectedly runs into the girl of his dreams and falls head over heels in love with her but unfortunately the path to true love can never run smoothly...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Girl in the Picture

**Author's Note:**

> This story is in response to a challenge on the LJ GH Unwrapped site which was posted quite some time ago. The challenge was to take a scene from a favorite movie and adapt it for characters from General Hospital. It took me infinitely longer than the prompt was up to complete this piece. It lay fallow and very close to completion until recently when I resurrected it and finally finished it. The movie I chose is one of the great romance classics of all time, the original Sabrina. The story grew beyond the idea of a simple scene and became much more complex and multi-layered with the introduction of several pivotal original characters. Yet, I like to think that I never lost sight of the wonderful sweet spirit of the original source material, at least not in an ultimate sense. The work is complete but it isn't definitive and with relationship to the movie, and indeed itself, there is definitely the possibility of a sequel which I have been mulling over in my mind. I suppose whether I write it or not depends on if the piece gets much in the way of a positive response.
> 
> As always, the characters, locale and story lines of General Hospital are not of my origination. If I did have some say in the matter what appears on my screen would be of a much different caliber than it currently is. I adore Sabrina and I love Audrey Hepburn and I could perhaps see an adult Molly possessing something of her gamine charm. Yet, I certainly can't claim any credit for that wonderful story brought so ably to life by Billy Wilder, the inestimable Audrey, William Holden and Humphrey Bogart. If you have yet to see it rectify your error!

Chance Encounter

 

 

Chapter One:  The Girl in the Picture

 

He was walking along the fringe of Central Park, the side which fronted on Fifth Avenue, as he debated with himself as to whether or not he ought to enter the bucolic anomaly located within this most urban of environments.  A quick glance at his cell phone assured him that there was plenty of time before his train.  The station was only a quick cab ride away and this very afternoon marked the last day of his protracted stay within the seductive confines of this intoxicating city.  Yet, the reason for his sojourn here was no longer valid.  The case he was involved in had come to a satisfactory conclusion for all parties involved.  In truth, there were no further rationalizations to be made about his dawdling any further, no matter the myriad of reasons he could easily conjure up for doing so. 

He was needed up north where his partner was buried under a veritable blizzard of missing person and cheating spouse cases.  Even his roommate’s usually calm and collected tones were taking on a more frazzled sounding air as he sharply inquired on the phone yesterday, “When the hell are you coming home?”

So, he didn’t intend to waste these last few precious hours of solitude wherein he could indulge himself without regard to another living soul.  He didn’t have to apologize if he wanted to ramble through the famed park and quote the immortal poetry of John Keats.  Perhaps another equally enticing option would be to rent a rowboat and take it out on the lake.  There, floating serenely on the water, the boat’s mirror image reflected in the calm sheen of the surface, he could envision all the romantic comedies in which he had ever seen that very scene enacted. Though of course, by definition, those selfsame boat rides usually involved a couple and he didn’t really think the same effect could be attained if he attempted the activity on his own.

Just then the first rain drop plopped onto his head.  He looked accusingly up at the May sky which seemingly a mere moment ago appeared clear with white scudding clouds but now abruptly loomed gray and storm freighted.  Unlike himself, the vanguard drop was not of a solitary disposition and soon hundreds and then thousands of its companions were beating down on upon his unprotected pate. 

Ever apt, he substituted the bard for Keats as he quoted, “The better part of valor is discretion,” and suiting actions to words, he made a headlong dash for the nearest available shelter to avoid the onslaught of a veritable deluge.  “For chance is a fair mistress,” he opined happily as he shook off the excess water and looked around himself awe struck to be within the echoing, marbled immensity of the Metropolitan Museum of Art lobby.  “Tis a more than fair exchange to trade one afternoon interlude for another just as equally if not rather even more vaunted.”

He knew his time was limited and, after perusing the map of the museum’s various displays, chose to visit the permanent series of galleries dedicated to one of his favorite artists, the American impressionist, Childe Hassam.  Mesmerized, he wandered into the first of several interconnecting rooms, reveling in the chance to see so many of the artist’s work in their true form rather than displayed in the two dimensional pages of art books and calendars.

“Mere reproductions don’t do her justice,” he breathed out as he reverently perused the _French Peasant Girl_.

“No, they don’t, do they?”  The voice was light and airy and he looked around the room, startled at the intrusion into his private artistic musings. 

He swallowed convulsively saying the first thing which leapt to mind.  “You appreciate Childe Hassam?” 

He blushed fiercely at his stupidity and wished he could reclaim the words leaving them unsaid, salvaging the letters and syllables for something worthy of the moment.  If he could perform a do over, he would produce a statement suave and sophisticated that in all its witty sophistication would serve to mark him in her mind forever as ‘that intriguing, mysterious man I met one rainy day at the Met…’ Barring such an unlikely opportunity, he fervently wished the shining luster of the floor would spontaneously open itself up and swallow him whole.  He would then rapidly tumble down to the pits of hell where he could deservedly pay for his transgressions against the sacred art of seductive conversation. 

Yet, she appeared unperturbed by the lack of originality of his opening gambit and answered him with a pure simplicity which in the instant won his ever labile heart.  “Indeed I do, very much.” 

She smiled shyly at him and he immediately fell even further beneath the spell of hazel eyes, silken hair of a chestnut hue and olive skin with the faintest underlying tinge of roseate coloring.  She was the match of any siren contained within this colossal reservoir of art, he was firmly convinced of it. 

Emboldened, he bowed slightly and gestured toward an entryway into another gallery.  “I am not sure if Mademoiselle is aware or not,” he peered at her face and was delighted to see a telltale flush as she reacted to both his actions and words, “That there are yet another eight galleries of the inestimable Mr. Hassam to peruse and time is fleeting.” 

“Eight galleries,” she echoed faintly, her eyes widened in stupefied amazement as she stared at the opening he had just indicated.  “So many paintings, I had no idea…” she trailed off weakly as she darted a quick glance at a thin gold watch wrapped around her slender wrist.

He suddenly felt extremely anxious as he actually could feel the dull thuds of his heart trapped within in his chest.  Each rapid beat was imploring him not to let this delicate creature depart from his side, at least not until it was absolutely necessary and never seemed a good time for that unlooked event to occur. 

“Do you have a prior engagement?” He inquired attempting to generate an air of sophisticated indifference and instead realizing he merely appeared miserable and hangdog. 

A girl like this would have plenty of beaux and most likely she was simply passing the time with a fellow aficionado of American impressionism while waiting for her true date to arrive and sweep her away.  He would more than likely appear in a sleek limousine and take her out for a night at the opera.  His ever fertile imagination helpfully supplied the details not only of the evening’s events and the method of transportation but also conjured up a mental image of the already hated rival.  He would be Nordic looking he was sure so that the two would make the perfect study of contrasting beauty, the culmination of which would eventually come to fruition in the surpassing loveliness of their genetically superior children. 

“Excuse me,” she was looking at him expectantly, and he was jolted out of his unpleasant daydream to find that he had entirely missed her reply to his own fretful inquiry, “Do you feel all right?  Do you want to sit down or something?”  She pointed at a plain wooden bench meant to rest the weary feet of museum goers as they unwarily tackled the two full city blocks the building encompassed. 

“No, no,” he hastened to deflect her concern, “I must apologize for not hearing what you said about your plans for the afternoon.  I was just lost in envious contemplation of whomever my challenger for your time might be.” 

The speech was perfectly phrased and he was further enthralled as a radiant smile spread across her features and made her more luminously lovely than ever.  “It’s not a whom, it’s a what,” she explained earnestly as though she didn’t want him to worry unnecessarily about fictional significant others, “I have a train to catch later on this evening.”

“Oh,” he responded, grinning idiotically in his relief, “Well, then that is coincidental for I also must regretfully leave this city before my wont as I too have a train to catch.”

“When’s yours leaving?” she asked curiously, her eyes shining at him with some unfathomable emotion that if hard pressed to name, he would have labeled as mischief.

“Uh, seven-thirty,” he said, as he tried to ascertain what she could find so humorous about information which was not only dry and mundane in its recitation but which also threatened to tear them asunder in the much too near future.

Giggling, she responded with an unconvincing show of surprise, “Mine too, what a coincidence!”

“You are toying with me!” He accused her, his eyes narrowed and his lips falling into an unconscious pout as he had a sudden flash of enlightenment, “You knew my answer before ever you asked the question, did you not?”

Looking slightly shamefaced, she nodded her head, “It’s true, I’m afraid that I did.”

“It would seem you have me at a disadvantage.  You would appear to know who I am but the reciprocal is most unfortunately not the case.”  He peered even more intently at her pixie-like features, it was a far from unpleasant exercise, as he tried to ascertain where he might know her from.  His only success was the slightest echo of familiarity but nothing he could concretely claim as an actual memory.  “I can not believe I would not recognize one as fair as you.”  He murmured contritely, his irritation quickly lost in his embarrassment at being unable to recall meeting the beautiful young woman.  “It is an unforgivable breach of etiquette for which I most sincerely apologize.”

“It’s all right,” she was smiling at him again.  Her countenance was bright and blithe as she freely gave her absolution, “It was a long while ago and I dare say I have changed, hopefully for the better.”

The blatant seeking for a compliment went neither unnoticed nor unacknowledged as he responded with quick gallantly.  Raising her small hand to his lips he gently kissed the back of it.  Holding it still, clearly reluctant to release any connection he might share with her, he spoke with plain sincerity as he gazed mesmerized into her beguiling eyes, “Whatever might have come before, if it t’was a case of the awkward signet metamorphosing into a swan, I can vouch for the successful transformation.  It is now a most definite case of perfection being impossible to improve upon.”

Again a delicate flush of color traveled up her slender neck and spread across her cheekbones.  She could do little more than stare at him overwhelmed as she was by his words.  “That is without a doubt the most remarkable thing anyone has ever said to me.”  Her voice was small but she spoke clearly as she paid him the signal honor of not shying away from his impassioned words.

“Well, then I shall make it my life’s mission to make sure it that there will be many more occasions for you to feel that precise way again.”  He looked down at the small hand lying in his and acting decisively, nestled it within the crook of his bent elbow.  “Allow me to escort you through several more of these galleries and then as the time grows nigh perhaps we can partake of a light repast before heading to the station.  During our time together I shall endeavor to tease out information so as to solve the mystery of how we are acquainted.”

“Well,” she said happily turning with him and heading for the next gallery, “After all, you are a detective.”

He gaped at her in astonishment, “You are indeed acquainted with me then to the extent of knowing of my chosen vocation.”

“I am,” her tone was teasing, “I know a lot about you, Mr. Spinelli but how much do you know abut me?”

“Remarkably little,” he conceded, “As I don’t even have a name to bestow upon you.”

With her free hand, using her small and flat patent leather handbag as a pointer, she indicated the next gallery, “Lead on Macduff.”

“You not only are an informed lover of the representational arts but of the bard himself,” he exclaimed with delight as they entered the next room and began to stroll around the gallery examining the paintings spread out and hung with best effect upon the walls.

Again, her lips curved in that delicious smile and he found himself dreaming of what it would be like to gently take her face between his palms and kiss those sweet and tempting lips.  “A long time ago, a certain someone imbued within me an everlasting love of Shakespeare.  I think it was one of the sonnets.  Let me see, how did it go?” She paused in the middle of the room, her eyes pensive as she attempted to remember the quote.

 

_“O, never say that I was false of heart,_

_Though absence seemed my flame to qualify._  
As easy might I from my self depart  
As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie.  
That is my home of love; if I have ranged,  
Like him that travels I return again,”

 

She paused and looked up at Spinelli, “Do you remember the rest?”  She asked him softly.  She awaited his response with bated breath as though his answer was some type of test, some affirmation that he was still as she remembered him from the unknown whence of their acquaintanceship.

Spinelli nodded his head quickly. His green eyes were aflame with a fierce joy at being tasked to remember that which was no type of privation in the least as all the sonnets were forever engraved upon his mind and enshrined within his heart.  “Tis one of my favorites,” he said before completing the proscribed fourteen lines:

 

_“Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,  
So that myself bring water for my stain.  
Never believe though in my nature reigned  
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,  
That it could so preposterously be stained  
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;  
For nothing this wide universe I call  
Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all_ _”_

“That’s it,” she exclaimed breathlessly not surprised in the least at his ease of recitation.

A while later, they stood mindlessly in front of the pure radiant light spilling forth from _Summer Evening_ where a woman dressed all in white, sat with her back to the viewer as she stared out through an open window across a field of gold at a distant sea.  A potted geranium plant, with red blooming flowers, sitting on the window sill contrasted perfectly with the more neutral surrounding tones and provided the finishing flourish to the painting.  Yet, they were as oblivious to this lovely picture as they had been to all the preceding paintings located in the galleries before this one which was the fifth in the procession.

The two only had eyes for one another while the poor Metropolitan and its glorious offerings was reduced to little more than a glamorous stage prop in their ongoing  game of ‘Who are you?’ and ‘I won’t tell but here’s a clue…’  Dazed and enamored though he was, Spinelli finally gathered his remaining wits about him long enough to check the time on his cell phone.

“Oh, look at the hour!”  He was mournful but painful as it was to admit, their idyll must come to an end as the real world and all its demands once more inexorably intruded.  “We must leave now if we are to grab some sustenance before moving onto the station and our communal train.  That is,” now he was hesitant as he looked down at her, his shaggy, air dried hair falling artlessly across his brow, “Of course, assuming that you haven’t regretted your time spent with the Jackal and do wish to continue our ongoing dialogue.”

She laughed, it was a delicate, joyful sound, and placing a small warm hand on his cheek, said fervently, “This has been the best afternoon of my life, bar none, and I don’t want it to ever end.  So, dinner, train ride, and whatever else might you have on offer, Mr. Spinelli, I will take it all and still want more.”

The walked out of the museum hand in hand, Spring had reclaimed her crown and the afternoon sun was out busily drying up rain puddles and glistening on the surface of the still damp museum steps.  They ran down them hand in hand, their great breadth and shallow draft drawing the eye ever upward to the imposing edifice of the museum.  Yet, the ageless stone and mortar was as nothing in the face of their breathless laughter.  They skimmed down them together, feeling untroubled and confident in their youth and in the wonderful serendipity of their encounter. 

Time was elastic, indulgent in her treatment of this flush of attraction, this insatiable need to look, to touch, to ask.  They wandered the streets making a generic, desultory stab toward getting to the station.  The only thing positive to be said about their peregrinations was that they weren’t moving in the wrong direction but otherwise, they were neither speedy nor effective.

Spinelli looked doubtfully at the plain façade, at their twinned reflections visible in the narrow glass door, their hands still melded as though it was a permanent condition, a fusing of flesh and bone.  “Are you sure?” He asked, his voice communicating his reservations.  This would be their first meal together and he wanted it to be a memorable occasion marked by damask, candlelight and a charmed intimacy that would bind them tightly to one another as they shared their histories and their secrets.  None of that, except perhaps the intimacy due entirely to the obvious space limitations of the cramped café, appeared to be attainable in the slightest at Pierre’s.  “We still have time,” he urged, tugging at her resistant hand, “Let’s keep looking.”

She shook her head in obdurate stubbornness.  Slight as she was, he couldn’t budge her.  She was planted on the sidewalk and Spinelli was intuiting a first possible flaw in her perfection, a potential willfulness that at this nascent stage in their relationship he would generously chalk up to a sense of destiny rather than a need to get her own way. 

“No,” she looked up at him and his objections melted away as he took in the intoxicating sight of her shining eyes, her heart shaped face earnest in the attempt to convince him she was right.  “In Paris, it was always the little tucked away places that had the best food and atmosphere.  This is such a one as well, I can feel it.”

Spinelli capitulated readily, he didn’t need food anyway.  It would all be as dust on his tongue, subservient to the soul inspiring nourishment provide by the nectar of her sweet laugh and the honey of her dark glance.  “Okay,” he agreed, reaching over to tuck a dark strand of wind tossed hair behind her ear, “Just promise me that you’ll visit me when I come down with food poisoning.”

“Silly!” She pronounced with a wind chime giggle tugging at his hand to get him to follow her adventuresome lead into the unwelcoming narrow gloom of the restaurant.

“Paris, eh?” He said, following her readily, “So that’s one mystery solved, you’ve been out of the country.”

“Yes,” she responded, they were standing in the minute foyer of the tiny room, there were as of yet no other diners at this early hour.  An elderly man in a white and black waiter’s uniform wended his way unsteadily toward them.  “Don’t worry, I’ll do the ordering for both of us.”  Spinelli could just make out a wicked gleam of mischief in her dark eyes as they awaited the arrival of their host.

 


	2. The Journey Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spinelli still doesn't know who his mysterious companion is but he's working hard to find out...

 

Chapter 2: The Journey Home

 

“Well?” She queried as they were once more out on the sidewalk and searching for a taxi.  While they were eating, time, in her fickle way, had altered from their indulgent ally and was now morphed into an openly declared enemy.

“Get in,” Spinelli said brusquely ignoring her question while he held the yellow door open for her.  “Grand Central and hurry,” he instructed the cab driver, holding up several folded bills as a silent incentive. 

The cab screeched away from the sidewalk to brutally merge with the ceaseless flow of traffic, their illegal trespass marked with a cacophony of indignant horns.  The unanticipated force of acceleration threw her against Spinelli’s side and he instinctively wrapped an arm around her to hold her steady.  He stared down into bewitching dark eyes which were becoming more and more familiar to him with every passing moment, all the while the where and when of their former acquaintanceship remained stubbornly elusive.  Her breath gusted warmly against his cheek and he shivered in reflexive response to the sensation.

“Well?” She asked him again, this time prodding his ribs with a stiff forefinger that actually hurt a little, “What did you think of it?”  

Spinelli sighed as he acknowledged defeat, “You were right, the food was great.”  He recited his surrender in an aggrieved tone of voice knowing full well that given his own recognizance he would never have given the little hole in the wall café a second glance, thereby missing out on possibly the best meal of his life.  “Though the service was glacial,” he couldn’t resist one weak jab as she smiled demurely up at him, satisfied with her victory.  Rolling his eyes, Spinelli once more pulled out his cell phone, “We’ll be lucky to make our train on time.” 

A sideways glance at her face, the curve of her cheek and the lingering remnants of her smile caused his own lips to reluctantly form a corresponding grin.  Spinelli usually wasn’t a gracious loser in matters of the intellect or culture since most people couldn’t hope to match his formidable knowledge base in either arena.  Yet, he thought to himself without rancor, with an opponent like this one he could get quite used to being wrong if his reward was observing her simple transparent contentment at his defeat.  Spinelli briefly wondered if that was one of the poetic definitions of love, the easy willingness to sacrifice something of such little ultimate importance as one’s ego, in order to gain in return everything which truly mattered.  If it wasn’t then it ought to be and he was just the man to try his hand at penning such a deathless ode to romance.

“We’ll make it,” she said with quiet confidence, slipping her small hand trustingly into his larger one.

Her prediction proved to be correct though there was no time margin to spare.  The train pulled out on schedule with Spinelli panting as he sagged back into his seat.  His lips pursed irritably as he eyed her sitting across from him, composed and collected with not a hair out of place or a crease visible upon her fashionable black pantsuit. 

“A little luggage,” he mimicked her higher pitched voice, his breathing still ragged from his exertions. 

It had taken him a solid ten minutes of pulling and hefting to move her multitude of suitcases, and even a steamer trunk, onto a baggage cart from the luggage area at Grand Central where she had arranged for it to be sent.  Finally a porter materialized and shuttled the luggage to the train for them but not before Spinelli was fully convinced he had slipped a disk.

“I was gone for two years,” she replied reasonably, not in the least perturbed by his ill humor, “You accumulate a lot in that amount of time.”

“You can say that again,” he grumbled, still feeling disgruntled at her offhand reception of his Herculean labors on her behalf.  “You couldn’t have flown with all of that,” he said, his tone unreasonably accusing as though her mode of transport was somehow his business.

“I didn’t,” she smiled at him, “I took the Queen Mary II, it’s the iconic way to cross the Atlantic.”

“That’s very old school,” Spinelli said in awe, his irritation fading as he absorbed the romance inherent in her mode of travel.  Suddenly a thought occurred to him and he asked uneasily, “Was there perchance a shipboard romance to fully round out the experience?”

Her entire body stilled as she stared at him in silent consideration of his remark.  Just as Spinelli was finding he couldn’t take one more moment of damning quiet and was going to add some falsely cheerful tag to his ill judged question, she finally responded.

“No,” she said, the expression in her eyes clear and straightforward as she spoke, “There wasn’t. more’s the pity.” She threw the last in as a gentle taunt but he didn’t mind so relieved he was to receive the answer he wanted.

He should have left it there but some masochistic demon forced him to probe further as though he actively wanted to be hurt.  “Yet, surely in two years, in France, in Paris, the city of love as t’were…” Spinelli trailed off, cursing himself for an unattractive, insecure fool who was assuming proprietary rights about something to which he had no legitimate claim.

She placed the fingers of her right hand up against her lips in a failed attempt to quell an incipient smile, “Two years is a long time and naturally there were…encounters.”  She gave a very Gallic shrug as though such interactions were both fully to be expected and yet, simultaneously of no consideration. 

Spinelli didn't feel in the least like smiling.  He bit his lower lip, disregarding entirely the myriad of dates he himself had participated in over the last several years as he dwelt miserably on the correct interpretation of the euphemistic word encounters.  With a resigned sigh he abandoned the analysis knowing it a foolhardy thing to want this sprightly creature to have stayed pure for him as he, in ignorance of her very existence, most certainly had not.  Surely, he was not such a Neanderthal as all that.

Spinelli looked up from his ruminations, willing to start afresh, to reopen the endless dialogue between them untainted by unfounded jealousy when he stopped short, his next words dying unspoken within his throat.  She was asleep, lulled by the motion of the train, her eyes were closed and her head rested at an uncomfortable angle against the window frame.  Spinelli removed his worn leather jacket and solicitously draped it across her.  She stirred and he was afraid he might have woken her but she simply gathered the jacket up around her and with a sigh of unconscious contentment continued sleeping.

He watched over her for the duration of the journey while he cudgeled his recalcitrant brain for the missing information about their shared history.  She appeared to know much about him-his profession, his name, his love of Shakespeare. Yet, all Spinelli had gleaned in return was that she had spent two years in Paris studying art history at the Sorbonne as well as attaining a Cordon Bleu cooking certificate.  While these achievements were indeed impressive, they were of absolutely no help in his frustrated attempts at excavating the mysteries of their shared past.

By the time the train pulled into the Port Charles station she was awake in response to some internal alarm clock.  Spinelli knew full well if he had been the one to fall asleep in such awkward circumstances that he would have woken up with his hair disheveled, his clothes crumpled and a disoriented air about him.  Yet, his traveling companion suffered from none of these shortcomings.  Instead, she awoke briskly, looking entirely composed, alert and fully fashionable as from the moment their paths first crossed.

“Home sweet home,” he said with a broad sweeping gesture while they prepared to disembark along with the few other passengers sharing their car.

“It’s wonderful to be back!” She said with excitement, her cheeks were glowing red and her eyes sparkled with joy. 

Spinelli tried to squash the ignoble feeling that he wished his mere presence could elicit such unfeigned delight from her.  After all, it was only natural that she was giddy with anticipation as she thought of reuniting with her family.

“Is someone meeting you?” He asked tentatively, hating the thought that since they were now in Port Charles they would soon be parting ways. 

For the first time since he had met her, she appeared uncertain.  “No, I wanted to surprise them at home and so I was a little vague about my timetable. I guess I just thought I would take a cab but all my luggage…it won’t fit.”

“I can drive you home,” Spinelli offered diffidently, “My car isn’t large though and such an arrangement would require leaving quite a bit of your luggage here to be collected later.”

She nodded her head in easy acquiescence, “That would be marvelous.  I can easily leave most of my luggage and just take a few essentials.  Are you sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble though?”  Suddenly she appeared shy and uncertain of what favors she could reasonably expect him to proffer. 

“It is no trouble at all.” he said with fervent sincerity, “I was dreading the impending moment of separation.  Since you still hold an unfair advantage of recognition over me, I shall endeavor to utilize our extended time together in an effort to rectify that grievous inequity.”

“Feel free to try,” she teased him as she started toward the luggage car, her natural self-assurance fully restored.

“Wow!” She said appreciatively a few minutes later as she caught sight of Spinelli’s sleek little sports car gleaming softly in the vapor lamps of the train station parking lot.  “She’s a beauty.”

Spinelli smiled proudly as he began to load her drastically reduced number of suitcases into the trunk of his car.  “She’s a convertible…” he said tentatively as he waited for her to pick up on his unspoken desire.

“Really?  That’s wonderful, can we have the top down then?” She pleaded right on cue. 

“You’re sure you won’t be too cold?  It’s still only May and the nights, as you may have forgotten, can be chilly.” 

He wanted her to be comfortable but he also longed to drive the car as it was meant to be, free and open to the elements.  Spinelli hadn’t had many opportunities himself here in the frigid north to have the top down on his newest and proudest possession. 

“Absolutely,” she clapped her hands with excitement, “We can turn the heater on if it gets too cold.”  While Spinelli worked at lowering the roof, she peered intently at the car trying to ascertain its true color beneath the camouflaging affect of the ambient lighting.  “Powder blue,” she finally declared, satisfied with her discernment, “What a pretty color.”

“Powder blue,” Spinelli squeaked indignantly, “I beg to differ, the color is the very naturalistically inspired ‘Pacific Sky’.” 

He stalked around the car and reached around her to open the door, every rigid inch of his body proclaiming his injured pride.  He would have given vent to his feelings by slamming the door once she was safely ensconced but he thought it was unfair to take his temper against one of the females in his life out upon the other entirely blameless one.

By the time Spinelli had paid his parking toll and they were pulling out onto Van Ness Street, his ire had spontaneously evaporated.  She hadn’t said a word for several minutes and he didn’t want their final precious moments together to be spent in resentful silence. 

With a conciliatory tone, he asked, “Whither am I bound, oh fair mistress?”

She bit her lip and looked at him uncertainly before replying in a small voice, “Harbor View Road.” 

He turned left and headed north through the downtown area of Port Charles, happy that the car journey was to be extended for a while.  “The Jackal most humbly apologizes for his prior bad humor.  The color which originally seemed such a lovely choice in the show room has since that moment been a point of sore contention and I allowed the accumulated brunt of such remarks to fall unfairly upon your slender shoulders.”  He shot a sideways glance at her, catching little but a dark sheen of hair as her head was turned away from him while she stared intently out upon the city from which she had been so long exiled.  “If you wish to call the color powder blue the Jackal will concede it is so since you are the possessor of the more artistic eye among the two of us.”  He was desperate for her to say something, even if she was angry with him, he just couldn’t bear her indifference. 

She gazed over at him, her expression inscrutable in the pools of darkness between street lights.  “I like Pacific Sky,” she said simply, “It makes me think of driving Highway One through Big Sur.”  She leaned back into the seat and looked up the sky, the chill wind rippling the dark sheet of her hair.

“Perhaps someday the three of us could undertake such an epic journey,” Spinelli said wistfully. “There is much of the world the Jackal wishes to explore and has yet to see little more than his home in Tennessee and the Empire State, while imposing as she may be, is not enough to assuage my wanderlust.”

“Mine either,” she said in uncomplicated agreement, “Though I must admit it feels wonderful to be back home.  I can hardly wait to go Kelly’s and get a chocolate milkshake and hamburger!”  Her eyes grew dreamy at the idea of indulging in such a quintessential American treat.

“Aha, which reminds me,” Spinelli chimed in happy that they were once more talking, “The Jackal is still very much at a disadvantage in his knowledge of you and your antecedents here in Port Charles.  So, I reserve the right to query you in an effort to ascertain who you are before it is too late and we have reached our journey’s end.”

There was a flash of white as her teeth gleamed briefly and she laughed, “Why does the journey have to end,” she asked with an unfeigned wistfulness, “Why can’t we just keep driving north and we could continue to play the game…”

“We could,” Spinelli agreed rather liking the concept of the two of them held together in the confines of his car as the sped north toward the unknown, “Yet, we would soon encounter the Canadian border and while I surmise you have your passport with you, I regret to say that I do not.”

“I distinctly remember you as being some one who was much more about seizing the moment and living without regard to the conventions.” 

Her face was invisible to him now as they sped along the dark curves of Harbor View Road where the wealthy of Port Charles sheltered in their expensive enclaves away from the noise and chaos of the city.  Yet, her voice held a mild disappointment as though this current version of Spinelli was failing to live up to her idealized memories.

“Well, be that as it may, it seems that spontaneity would be as thwarted and pragmatism instead sustained were we to travel all that way only to be unceremoniously turned away and hence finding ourselves right back where we began.  Yet, if it is your desire that we attempt such a Quixotic attempt to breach the barriers of our constant neighbors to the north, your wish is but my command.” He made the offer sincerely since it would mean more time in her heady presence and give him the opportunity to prove himself not so changed from the person so recalled from so many years before.

“No,” she said with a resigned sigh, “It would be silly if only I was allowed to cross and there are people expecting me soon and it wouldn’t be polite to let them down after being gone for so long.”

Ever alert to an opportunity to learn more about her, he asked with a sly insouciance, “Would I be acquainted with those who await your return with breathless eagerness?”

She giggled unselfconsciously again and Spinelli decided it was fast becoming his favorite sound.  “Yes,” she said with an irritating lack of elaboration.

“Do I know them well, are we friends?”  He was becoming serious about this bizarre game of twenty questions. 

Spinelli was finding it more and more difficult not knowing who she was since she appeared to be heading fast toward permanent possession of his vulnerable heart.  It had been a long time since he had allowed anyone to creep under the hard carapace he had created to shield himself after his prior catastrophic debacles on the blood stained field of romance. 

“Some more than others,” she replied cryptically as she trailed her hand airily out alongside the car, loving the feeling of the cool air brushing against her exposed skin.  “We were all at your non-wedding though,” she finally conceded a valuable clue, “As well as the reception afterward.  The karaoke singing was great fun.”

“You were?”  Spinelli asked with excitement at the thought she might have finally given him a tangible lead as to who she might be.  He then groaned with frustration as he recalled that between himself and Maxie a large proportion of the city of Port Charles had been in attendance at both the ceremony and the reception.  He racked his brain furiously as he tried to place this enchanting creature with some group amongst the guests but failed utterly.

“I thought it was one of the most romantic acts I ever saw outside of books and movies,” she added, her voice suddenly sounding both nostalgic and achingly young.

For the first time since they had encountered one another there was the faintest stirring of memory within Spinelli’s mind.  Something about what she had just said in terms of both the phrasing and the actual sentiment called to mind someone saying almost those exact same words all those years ago.

Before he could further explore these elusive tendrils of remembrance she spoke again and offset his concentration, “Oh, look,” she exclaimed, turning in her seat to look across him, “Greystone Manor, everything is both so familiar and so alien at the same time, how can that be?”

“You are acquainted with Mr. Sir?” Spinelli asked her cautiously, not sure that was an association he was pleased to discover as they sped past Sonny Corinthos imposing property. 

She was once again looking out along the other side of the road, straining to catch glimpses of the moonlit river between the extensive estates blocking her view.  “I am indeed and he with me.”  She was back to toying with Spinelli while he was trying to process the few pieces of the puzzle that she had so far deigned to share with him about who she was and what defined her place in their mutual community of acquaintances. 

“Is this our final destination?” He queried, removing a hand from the steering wheel to gesture toward the mansions surrounding them on either side of the road, “Are these the homes of your neighbors and friends like Mr. Corinthos Sir and perhaps the glacial fashion maven Kate Howard.”  Spinelli couldn’t remember a single case which had so aggravated him as the simple act of learning who this bewitching creature was and how those mysteriously tantalizing ties could potentially affect what the two of them might eventually become to one another.

“My mother is great friends with Kate Howard,” It was a simple statement of fact.

Yet, it did nothing to help Spinelli determine who she was.  The clues were now coming at a fast and furious pace and Spinelli felt ashamed to find his vaunted detective skills to be found so utterly wanting.  Obviously, the old axiom that doctors ought not to treat their own ills must also apply to private investigators taking on themselves as clients.

Finally the dreaded words were uttered as she pointed up ahead to one of the few intersections which wasn’t a private driveway along Harbor View Road, “Turn left here, please.”

Spinelli peered at the street sign as it was briefly illuminated by the car headlights. Looking was more of a reflexive act than something he really needed to do because he was perfectly familiar with the street, if you could call it that.  She wanted him to drive down River Lake Road.  It was a narrow, graveled lane lined by cottages which were not geographically far from the imposing mansions of Harbor View Road.  Yet, from both an aesthetic and economic viewpoint the neighborhood was located in an entirely different universe. 

Now Spinelli knew the hourglass was, for all intents and purposes, empty.  The houses on River Lake Road were mostly summer homes which were maintained by caretakers for nine months of the year.  Next month, in June, the seasonal residents would start turning up for long weekends while some of them would be occupied for the entire summer by the college aged sons and daughters of their absentee owners.  Still, few of the homes on the rural road were resided in on a year round basis. 

The headlights of Spinelli’s trim roadster cut through the unrelieved blackness with only the fleeting shine of a startled rabbit’s eyes, caught briefly in the light’s glare, giving them any sense of their being any other beings in the world beside the two of them.  “Which house?”

He asked as a matter of form’s sake because by this point in the road he knew there to be only one possible answer.  His palms on the steering wheel slipped a little damp as they were with nervous perspiration.  His pulse was racing and he shot a little sideways glance at her, longing to catch a final glimpse of her lovely profile but he was denied his heart’s desire. The frail rays of moonlight couldn’t manage to penetrate the overarching branches, newly dressed in their spring foliage, of the trees entangled above the dark road, and there was no other ambient lighting to aid him in his vain quest. 

“Number fifty-seven,” her voice held a different timbre than it had all evening, now it was full of a mixture of yearning and excitement.  She sat forward in her seat, all intent eagerness as she strained against her seatbelt to see what they both knew lay ahead around the next bend. 

The car slowed seemingly as though of its own volition though Spinelli vaguely registered his foot on the brake.  There it was, coming inexorably into view, the final house on River Lake Road, number fifty-seven, the Davis residence.  “Are you visiting the Davis family?” He asked her, his tone full of confusion while his mind tried and failed to process the implications of this last piece of the riddle.

Abruptly, she transformed from a composed and enigmatic young woman into a volatile little girl full of jittery nerves and poorly concealed impatience.  She ignored Spinelli's tentative question and, leaning across him, tapped the horn in several sharp staccato beats which split the night's silence with a high pitched squawk of sound entirely alien to the peaceful setting.  Her method of garnering attention was successful as the door to the cottage opened revealing a rectangular bar of light.  A crowd of people spilled out of the doorway and stood on the front porch looking expectantly down the short driveway. 

Spinelli brought the car to a stop with an accompanying spray of gravel that he didn’t even register as being potentially damaging to his car’s paintwork, still so confused was he by their unexpected destination.  “Who are…” but he didn’t even have time to finish the question before she was out of the car and flying toward the group assembled on the porch.  One familiar figure was already stepping off the porch and onto the driveway and was the first to intercept her in her frantic flight.

“Whoa, Molly,” he said with concern, reaching a hand out to steady her though there was a slight underlay of amusement to his voice, “You don’t want to fall and mess up that fancy outfit you’re wearing.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Family Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly re-unites with family and friends while Spinelli is left dazed and confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to get this next chapter up. I think I just got distracted and forget to do it but I will try to put the rest of the story up in a more timely fashion!

“Jason!” Molly squealed with uncomplicated delight.  She threw her arms around his neck in a crushing hug which he tolerated with good grace, even wrapping his own arms around her waist and giving her a brief return press before gently disentangling himself.

“Go on now,” he spoke softly as he turned her toward those waiting a scant few feet away, “I think there are more important people for you to greet than me.”

Molly didn’t need any further incentive.  She dashed up the stairs into the waiting arms of her mother, sisters, cousins and friends.

“My little baby is all grown up,” Alexis was crying as she claimed the second hug of the evening.

“You’re taller than me,” Kristina lips were outthrust in an almost pretend pout of jealousy as her eyes scanned her little sister with calculation, closely marking her magical transformation into an elegant cosmopolitan woman. 

“Everyone’s taller than me!” Sam said with a rueful chuckle, squeezing Molly so hard she could barely breathe.

“Those shoes are exquisite,” Diane Miller had joined the group and was covetously eying Molly’s deceptively simple black heeled sandals, “Welcome home, sweetheart!”  She added belatedly, leaning in to press her cheek against Molly’s with the deferred realization that perhaps the actual girl wearing the shoes deserved some acknowledgment herself. 

“Hey, Molly,” Michael stepped up to claim his own hug, “You don’t know how much you have been missed around here.”

“Yes, really,” Morgan grabbed her next, “Things just haven’t been the same without your endless squawking about everything under the sun.”

“Ha!” Molly retorted as she stepped back and swatted him on the chest, “Anybody sounds good after people have been subjected to your inane idea of conversation-baseball statistics and the newest girl who has turned you down.”  She surreptitiously swiped at her eyes, trying to prevent the tears gathered in her eyes from falling down her cheeks. 

“They don’t turn me down it’s the other way around,” Morgan was participating in their familiar banter while tactfully ignoring the wetness of her face.

“Yeah, it’s always them and never you, Lothario,” Jax cut in good naturedly, “I’m not quite sure what all the females between the ages of twenty and twenty-five are going to do when someone finally captures you and gets you to settle down.  For now though, why don’t we give Molly a chance to catch her breath and gather her wits about her after dueling with you.” He started ushering the group toward the door and back into the house.

Excited voices reflected back out into the night spilling over to a still bemused Spinelli who with Jason’s help was offloading Molly’s luggage and carrying it to the porch.

“I’m so happy my baby’s finally back home.”

“What kind of presents did you bring us?”

“Did you meet any dreamy French men?”

“Never mind the men, they’re the same everywhere, except for the accents, but the shopping tell us all about that.”

“I’m so surprised to see you all here.  I mean it’s great and everything but I didn’t tell anyone exactly when I’d be back…”

“Hey, don’t forget, your big sister’s a private investigator. I just used a few of the tricks Spinelli taught me to check the manifest of the Queen Mary and cross correlated it with train times and voila…”

“That’s French for then your mother called up everyone who had known you since birth to arrange a welcome home party but we were the only dorks who had nothing to do on a Saturday night.”

Finally the door closed behind them and dark silence reigned over the gravel parking area.  “Hey,” Jason gave Spinelli an affectionate shove, arousing him from his stunned reverie, “Let’s go home.” 

He headed purposefully for the patiently waiting convertible.  Without checking with its rightful owner he launched himself gracefully over the closed driver’s door and landed neatly in the seat.  It was a move that Spinelli envied but despite multiple and progressively more desperate attempts had never once been able to replicate.  Without demure he opened the passenger door and climbed into the car.  It was an arrangement they were both used to and comfortable with and especially tonight Spinelli didn’t want to have to focus on driving.  He needed time to assimilate what he had just learned.

“Molly Davis,” Spinelli breathed the four syllables reverently out into the florally scented darkness.

Jason looked at him quizzically as he started the car, “That’s right, how did you two meet up anyway?”  Placing his right arm across the back of Spinelli’s seat he turned his head and looking over his shoulder reversed with a second spray of gravel kicked up from the force of the spinning car tires.  This time Spinelli registered the sacrilege and winced slightly but made no verbal protest.  He knew from experience that Jason would look at him expressionlessly and say patiently, “It’s a car, Spinelli, it’s meant to be driven.”

“It was serendipity, Stone Cold, a meeting determined by the intercession of the fates themselves.”

“Is that right?” Jason said allowing the smallest glimmer of a smile to cross his lips, secure in the ability of the darkness of River Road to hide from Spinelli exactly how much he had missed his friend.

“Tell us everything,” Sam said as they all claimed a seat in the living room and adjacent dining area.  “Where you went, who you met, what you ate.”

“Yes, maybe you could even share just the teeniest, tiniest smidgen of information about what you might have learned during these past two years enrolled in the esteemed Sorbonne.  A very expensive two years, I might add.”  Alexis’ dry voice cut across the excited chatter but her censorious words were belied by the wide, contented smile she wore as she stared at her youngest daughter finally safely back home where she belonged.

“Pish tosh,” Diane said dismissively, “I for one am not particularly interested in hearing the girl’s endless tales of tours in museums and time spent staring at statues of naked men.  Though of course,” she added magnanimously, “If there were stories to be heard about actual naked Frenchmen, I might not be adverse to hearing about them.”

“Diane!” Alexis said, reverting to her true and tried role of scandalized friend and mother, “That’s just entirely inappropriate.”

“Why is that, might I ask,” Diane responded coolly, she was now in full lawyer mode with only the slightest glint in her eye indicating that she might be deliberately provoking her partner, “No one here,” she waved a vague hand around the assembled company, “Is under twenty-one any longer and I for one would be very upset to learn that Molly, whilst away from your eagle eye, chose to behave like a nun.”  She snorted deprecatingly, “I know I sure wouldn’t have.”

Kristina giggled, Molly blushed, and Sam bent her head to hide her smile.  Meanwhile, Alexis stared at her best friend with her trademark gimlet gaze which, though it always managed to subdue errant jurors and recalcitrant witnesses, was never the slightest use in quelling one of Diane’s frequent and colorful outbursts.  Jax coughed discreetly to hide his own grin while Carly looked entirely entertained by the situation. 

Michael and Morgan hid their own chagrin at the unexpected turn in the conversation by simultaneously standing up and heading for the front door.  “Just going to bring in Molly’s luggage,” Michael mumbled giving his brother a sharp push to get them both out into the night air that much faster. 

Once out on the front porch, Michael was grateful for the nighttime breeze which cooled the flush in his cheeks which were almost as red with embarrassment at Diane’s risqué comments as were those of his hapless little cousin still stuck back in the living room.  At first, Michael thought that the odd noises emanating from Morgan were evidence of a coughing fit in response to the uncomfortable situation created by the discussion of Molly’s sex life, when he suddenly realized that instead, his brother was laughing so hard he was actually crying.  Michael could see the faint wetness on his face glimmering in the light from the living room as tears streamed down his face. 

“Did you see?” Morgan gasped bending over and clutching at his aching midriff, “The expression on Alexis’ face when Diane started up speculating about Molly’s sex life in France?  I wish I had my phone out, I would have taken a picture…” Morgan trailed off, unable to speak any further as he was once again assailed by an uncontrollable urge to laugh.

“I saw,” Michael grumbled, wishing, as he often did, that he could look at life the way Morgan could with unfailing good humor and the ability to see the absurd in every situation no matter how mortifying.  That just wasn’t how he was built though and he still felt a pang of pity for Molly forced to sit on the couch and endure the unending battle of wits that was the hallmark of the relationship between the two equally strong willed women.  ‘Still,’ he thought wryly reaching for a suitcase with each hand, ‘This way she’ll know she’s really home for good.’ 

“Are you just going to stand there laughing all night or are you going to help me bring these bags inside?” He asked his younger brother who was once again in control of himself as he swiped at his wet cheeks and then wiped his hands on his jeans.

“Sure thing, big brother, all you had to do was ask,” was Morgan’s easy reply as he picked up three smaller bags, “What the hell did she pack in here, these things weigh a ton!”  He staggered manfully toward the door which Michael had let swing close behind him. Morgan snaked out his left foot and managed to kick it back open so that he could make it through the aperture before it slammed shut.  “Molly, I swear you better have gotten me something uber cool to make up for the lower back pain I’m going to suffer from carting these bags of rocks around.”

“Whiner,” Kristina scoffed but her eyes were alight with avid curiosity as she covetously eyed the various suitcases now scattered around the living room.

“Oh presents, I love presents!”  Carly had long since stopped worrying about conventions as she openly expressed what everyone else was already thinking.

“You know, Carly,” Jax was aware, from years of hard won experience, of how his wife was when there was the merest whiff of a potential gift in the offing.  Thus, his tone was repressive as he tried to dampen her ardor.  “It might be perfectly possible that Molly thought her homecoming was enough present for all of us, I know it certainly is for me.” 

He smiled at her, his teeth white in his tanned face and Molly responded with her own open smile.  She was surprised to note that she no longer had a crush on Jax but that instead her long suppressed feelings of youthful longing for an unattainable older man had somehow metamorphosed into a much more apt sensation of warm affection.

“Oh, c’mon, Jax,” Carly slapped at his arm impatiently, “Of course Molly brought things back for us.  After all, she’s been gone two years, that’s plenty of time to shop for just the right thing for everybody here.”  Even Carly noticed the dead silence which met her remark.  Looking around she had a rare epiphany as she recognized that she had overstepped normal social boundaries and with an awkward clearing of her throat, she attempted to backtrack. “Um, Molly, that is,” everyone in the room was held in spellbound fascination by this extremely atypical version of an apologetic Carly.  It was a side of her personality seen so rarely as to be countenanced as myth by all but the most immediate members of her family, “Naturally, the most important thing is that you are home safe and sound.  I entirely understand if you only brought gifts for Alexis and your sisters and your cousins or even if you didn’t buy a thing for anyone at all.  Either one or both or none, all are equally fine…”  She realized she didn’t even know what she was trying to say anymore and the second amazing thing of the evening occurred when Carly Jax trailed off into a quiet of her own making.

Molly was sitting on the couch listening with bemusement to Carly’s extemporaneous speech.  She was tired, exhausted really, from her long journey.  The adrenalin maintained through the drive home and during the initial reunion with her family was beginning to wear off.  All she wanted to do was climb into bed fully clothed and sleep for the next twelve hours.  Yet, everyone seemed to be staring at her expectantly as though they were waiting for her to respond to Carly’s ramblings. 

Molly shook her head in a fruitless attempt to clear it of the sensation of being packed with cotton wool.  With a weary sigh she pushed herself up from the soft clutching depths of the sofa.  She swayed dizzily as she stood up and Sam was suddenly right next to her wrapping a solicitous arm around her waist.

“Maybe you should go to bed and we can worry about unpacking tomorrow,” her sister said diplomatically, “You must be beat, it’s been a long day.”

Molly shook her head, the stubbornness that was a genetic hallmark of all the Davis women asserting itself, “No, I’m fine, Sam.  I’ll just unpack the gifts and then I’ll go to bed.” 

She walked toward the three smaller and heavier bags which Morgan had complained about and unzipped the first one.  Pulling out a small black and white cardboard box she carried it over to Alexis, “This is for you Mom,” she said handing it to Alexis and giving her a quick hug.

“Chanel Number 5,” Alexis squealed ecstatically, “My favorite!  Thanks, sweetie,” and she kissed Molly soundly before allowing her to go back to her dispensation of largesse.

Next to be retrieved was a narrow and deep rectangular box which Molly presented to Diane who received it with veneration.  She opened it and gave a little gasp as she peered inside at a tissue encased pair of turquoise colored shoes adorned with a myriad of criss-crossing straps and five inch high, ice-pick thin heels. 

“They are simply exquisite, Molly,” she whispered reverently, her eyes shining as she reached up and hugged the younger woman whom she had made blush for the second time that evening, “Thank you.” Momentarily, she held Molly in a tight embrace and then released her and reached eagerly for the shoes, pulling them free from the surrounding nest of tissue paper, “I’m putting these on right now,” Diane stated dramatically as she brushed impatiently at the tell tale signs of moisture threatening to over spill her lower eyelids.

Once again Molly returned to the trio of bags and moved to open the second one.  This time she pulled out two flat boxes and carried them over to her sisters.  She handed one to Sam and the other to Kristina and waited for them to open them.  Inside each box was a finely knitted silk sweater.  Molly looked down at the boxes and gave a little giggle of embarrassment as she realized her error.  Reaching down she snatched the boxes away from her sisters and switched them.

“Sorry,” she said, “The red is for Sam and the blue for Kristina.”  She stood anxiously before her sisters, awaiting their reactions to the simple classic sweaters she had purchased for them. 

“I love it, Molly,” Sam stood up and gave her a quick hug, “I’m going to go try it on right now.”  She turned and darted down the hall leading to the rear of the house where the bedrooms were located.

Kristina looked at the fine gauge sweater in her box and then looked up at her expectant sister. “Thanks, Molly,” she said quietly.  Her face indicating little more than politeness on her part as she expressed her gratitude for the gift, “I’m sure it will be very practical.”

Molly could see Kristina was disappointed and she felt a quick stab of guilt that she hadn’t thought to bring her a more flamboyant gift like Diane’s shoes.  “I have a couple of them and they are so comfortable and really versatile.  I practically live in mine.”  The words were coming out in a rush as she fought to justify her choice of a gift for her older sister.  Kristina was the only person on the planet who could still manage to make grown-up, sophisticated Molly feel like a little toddler with sticky fingers.

“Ta da!” Sam was back modeling her red sweater which fit her perfectly, melding to her curves as the bright red contrasted vividly with her dark hair.

A wolf whistle emanated from Jax who received an irritated jab in the ribs from Carly.  She had learned to tolerate Sam McCall and maybe even grudgingly recognize that she was good for Jason.  Still, that didn’t mean she had to put up with her own husband ogling her as he more than likely was flashing back to the distant days when the two of them were briefly a couple.

“That looks great, Sam” Alexis said with a manic cheerfulness, her enforced proximity to Carly was beginning to wear on her.  She looked significantly at Kristina, “Why don’t you go try yours on as well, Kristina, so we can see what the blue looks like.”  She gave a significant jerk of her head at Molly in an effort to make Kristina realize how much she was hurting her sister’s feelings but her middle daughter only stared rebelliously back at her mother, her lower lip protruding mutinously.

“Not right now, Mother,” Kristina responded with dangerous sweetness, “Molly can see it one of these days when I actually decide to wear it.”

Molly bit her lip in consternation at her sister’s rude rebuff of her gift.  Diane suddenly stood up, her height increased by almost half a foot, “Well, I for one am happy to both wear my gift and model it for all you poor unfortunates who lack such stylish footwear.”  She pranced up and down upon the living room carpet while everyone made admiring comments about her shoes and Molly went back to the suitcases to retrieve further surprises.

“Thank you,” Alexis mouthed at her friend when she tottered unsteadily by on heels which were little more than stylish shavings.

Diane adored every sharp pinch of her foot as the straps cut into the tender skin across her arch and each unstable motion as she fought valiantly against gravity in a battle to remain upright.  Women suffered for fashion, it was the first rule, the final rule and, really, the only rule that mattered and she embraced the challenge

“This is for you, Jax and these are for you, Carly.”  Molly was standing in front of the couple holding out a small, white rectangular box for Carly and a bottle for Jax.

Carly reached for the box with an uncomplicated squeal of delight.  The truth of the matter was that Molly could have brought her a pencil sharpener shaped like the Eiffel Tower and she would have been content.  It truly was the thought that counted for her. 

“Oh my god,” she was delighted, “Belgian chocolates, you shouldn’t have Molly, you really shouldn’t have,” she popped one into her mouth and indistinctly said, “But I’m glad you did!”

Michael and Morgan had made their way over to their mother, attracted, as are young men everywhere, by the mere mention of food.  “Let me have one, Mom,” Morgan wheedled while Michael tried the more direct route of reaching into the open box. 

“Keep your hands off,” Carly slapped her elder son’s hand away and glared at Morgan as she cradled the box protectively to her bosom.  “These are mine.  Molly gave them to me, get your own Belgian chocolates.”  She ended any hope of debate by closing the box and holding it tightly in both her hands.

During this familial exchange Jax had been entirely silent staring down at the bottle Molly had handed him.  She felt deflated at his response.  Of all the gifts she had brought back, his was actually the one she had put the most thought and care into choosing.  Yet, between Jax’s unenthusiastic reaction and Kristina’s outright disdain for her sweater, she was beginning to feel like a failure in the realm of present selection.

“Don’t you like it?” She asked him with a quiet tentativeness. 

“Like it?” Jax’s voice was rough and hoarse sounding as he looked up at her in wonderment, “Molly, I love it but you shouldn’t have.  It must have been expensive.”

Molly was extremely relieved to find that he truly valued her gift, “It wasn’t as costly as you might expect.  I had a friend and he knew of several smaller vineyards.”

“He?” Alexis interjected suspiciously.  The ghost of the earlier conversation rematerialized for a brief moment before she registered Diane’s warning shake of her head.  “Oh, that sounds nice, honey.”  She finished weakly as she sat back in her chair and thought of what else her youngest daughter might have been up to during her visits to explore French viniculture. 

“Well, anyway,” Molly continued once it appeared her mother wasn’t going to continue her cross examination, “He took me to this Chateau Margaux, a winery in the Bordeaux region, and they recommended this particular wine.  I guess it was a really good year?” She queried Jax, sure he would know. 

“Yeah,” he said, stroking the wine bottle lovingly, “One of the best in recent times.  This is a treasure, Molly, thank you so much!”  Once more Molly was engulfed as Jax wrapped his arms around her in a crushing hug while still managing to securely hold onto the precious bottle.

“I’m glad you like it,” she finally said as she stepped back and basked in the gratified expression upon his face.

“Well, why don’t we break open the bottle and get a taste of this famed wine,” Carly turned toward Alexis, “Where do you keep your wine glasses?”

“Sacrilege!” was the single word muttered in response to Carly’s innocent question by an outraged Diane who was now once again seated and massaging her feet, sore after only a the briefest of sojourns in the fabulous shoes.  She had gotten a glimpse of the wine bottle as Molly carried it across the room to Jax and she was enough of an oenophile to realize what a truly exceptional find it was. 

“Carly,” even Jax’s legendary patience was obviously stretched thin as he turned to his oblivious wife, “This isn’t just any wine that we can have with cheesy snacks and frozen pizza.  It’s a special vintage that we need to save for some special occasion like a milestone anniversary or when one of the boys or Josslyn gets engaged.”

“Like that’s going to happen anytime soon,” Morgan laughed derisively at his father’s comment, “C’mon Molly, I’ve been patient but after all, I lugged those suitcases in here what did you get me?”

Molly sent him an exasperated glare but she obediently returned to the third of the small suitcases.  After rummaging around for a moment, she pulled out two flat, rectangular packages wrapped in butcher block paper. 

“Here,” she said handing one to Michael and the other to Morgan, “I hope you like them.”

Eagerly, both young men ripped off the paper and gazed at the small pen and ink drawings which were revealed.  “Wow, Molly,” Michael was the first to find his voice, “You did these didn’t you?”

Molly nodded her head, suddenly feeling unaccountably shy in front of these boys she had known her whole life.  “That one,” she pointed to Michael’s picture, is a view of the Seine, looking from one bridge to another really early one morning before there was any traffic on the river.” She then pointed to Morgan’s drawing, “That I drew when I was in the Tuilleries it’s a famous garden and you can see the Eiffel Tower from a couple of vantage points.”  The iconic structure loomed over some trees in the background of the picture.

“It’s terrific, Molly,” I love it, Morgan’s unfeigned pleasure at the personalized gift was evident.

Everyone else clustered around the boys and murmured their own approbation of the lovely little drawings.  “See, Alexis,” Diane drawled mischievously, “It was all money well spent.  It’s clear that Molly here didn’t spend all her time traipsing around the French countryside with unknown young men as her guides.”

Before Alexis could do more than pierce Diane with a dagger like stare as she opened her mouth to make a scathing reply, Molly quickly spoke first, “Oh, Sam, I almost forgot!”  She darted back to the suitcases which were noticeably lighter by this juncture and reaching in pulled out several paperback books.  “These are for Jason,” she handed them over to her older sister. “They’re travel books for various areas in France.  I thought he might like them and really I couldn’t think of anything else to get him.”

“They’re the best gift possible for him,” Sam reassured her, “He’ll really like them and I’m sure he’ll tell you so when you see him at the engagement party.”

“Engagement party?” Molly echoed, her brow furrowed, “Are you and Jason engaged?” She looked down at her sister’s left hand but her ring finger was conspicuously bare.

Sam laughed, the sound full throated and husky with perhaps an underlying tint of melancholy, “No, it’s not Jason and me, it’s Spinelli.”

“Spinelli?”  Molly gasped the name out in shock, “He’s engaged?”

“Yeah didn’t he tell you on your trip home?” Morgan asked looking speculatively at Molly’s ashen face.  “Where exactly did the two of you meet anyway?  I don’t think you said.”

“That’s because no one will let me get a word in edgewise!” Molly snapped waspishly, her temper fraying.  “Who’s he engaged to?” Her eyes were focused on Sam’s face as she waited for the reply.

However, it was Diane who answered, her voice tight with disapproval, “Her name is Laura Maretti and she’s a spoiled brat!”

“Diane,” Sam tried to calm the lawyer down but it was apparent to Molly’s searching gaze that her sister didn’t feel far differently about the situation herself.  “It’s more of a business arrangement or an alliance.  Sonny and Laura’s father, Giovanni Maretti, brokered the deal.”

“Spinelli is being sacrificed on the literal altar of Sonny’s ambition,” Diane said emphatically, her eyes narrowed in disapproval.

“Be that as it may,” her mother’s familiar reasonable tones penetrated Molly’s agitated mind the way they had her entire life, “It’s Spinelli’s decision to make, not ours.”

“Jason doesn’t like it either,” Sam said confidingly, “He had me run a background check on her.”

“What did you find?” Diane asked eagerly, her eyes glittering as though she scented blood, “Something we could use to influence Mr. Grasshopper and get him to cancel this misguided engagement?”

Sam sighed, “She doesn’t go to work or do anything at all productive.  Her life seems to consist of one long round of parties, spa treatments and long lunches.”  She couldn’t bring herself to add the fact that Laura also had a string of current and ex-lovers whose dossiers created quite a hefty file in their own right. 

“Sounds like a great life,” Kristina said dreamily.

Her mother switched her basilisk stare to Kristina, “Bite your tongue!”  She chided her wayward child, “You young lady are going to finish law school and follow in Diane and my footsteps.  You’ll inherit our practice one day.”

Kristina stared at her mother in resentful silence for a moment.  Then she recalled the topic at hand and turned eagerly to Molly.  “The party is tomorrow night at Greystone Manor.  It was planned as a double celebration of the engagement and your welcome home party.  I’m so excited, I have the most marvelous dress to wear.  Kate Howard let us all chose from the Crimson closet.”  She stared contemplatively at her sister for a moment, remembering her complete lack of fashion sense, “I’m sure she’d be more than happy to outfit you as well so that you don’t disgrace us all.”

“Kristina, that is enough!”  Alexis’ admonition didn’t affect her daughter at all and neither did the disapproving stares from everyone else. 

‘It’s not fair,’ Kristina thought sulkily, ‘They always coddle her, just like they did when she was a baby.’

Molly looked with weary disillusionment at her sister.  She had thought that maybe this time apart would have enabled them to get past the animosity which grew between them during the latter years they had lived together.  She had never quite understood why Kristina’s slightly exasperated fondness for her little sister had altered into a resentful jealousy but it was clear that nothing fundamental had changed between them during the two years she had been away.

“No thank you,” Molly replied with an icy politeness, “I have a gown that I believe will be more than adequate for the party.”

“French couture?” Diane asked with the all the devotion of a true fashion acolyte, “Oh, I can hardly wait to see it.  I bet you’ll be the belle of the ball.”

She sent a sharp satisfied glance toward Kristina as she saw the older girl’s face grow pinched with fury.  Diane knew she should love all of Alexis’ children equally but she had discovered that she simply couldn’t do it.  Kristina had proven to be a little troublesome minx during her summers spent interning in their law practice and Diane no longer had any reserves of patience left to deal with her. 

‘Serve her right if Molly outshines her tomorrow night,’ she thought with malicious approval.

“Okay, I think Molly is falling asleep on her feet,” Alexis began shepherding the Jax family and Diane toward the door.  “We’ll see everyone tomorrow night at the party.”

There was a final chorusing round robin of ‘goodbye’ and ‘welcome back’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘goodnight’ traded back and forth between the Davis family and their departing guests. 

“That is the only worthwhile thing coming out of this travesty of an engagement, the chance to wear designer clothes.”  Diane’s parting words drifted back to the four women standing in the living room of the lake house.

“Sam and Kristina are bunking together tonight so we can all have a family breakfast tomorrow.”  Alexis told Molly, “Have I mentioned how totally thrilled I am to have you back home?” She asked as she once again embraced her younger daughter.  “Well, I am,” she whispered softly into her hair. 

“Me too, Mom, me too,” Molly said, content to simply spend a moment wrapped in the familiar security of her mother’s arms. 

 


	4. The Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The history behind Spinelli's engagement is explained.

 

The blue convertible sped down Harbor View Road once more racing the moon as it flitted in and out of sight through the branches of the trees lining River Road.  The engine roared with life as Jason shifted gears and then accelerated.  He always felt that it was such a pity that this beautiful machine was seldom driven in manual mode.  He regarded it in a surprisingly poetic sense as though it were a caged bird unable to stretch its wings and know the full glory of flight under Spinelli’s well meaning imprisonment. Spinelli only knew how to drive an automatic shift which meant that until Jason took the wheel the car couldn’t reach its true potential to fly across the winding surface of the road free and unfettered.

He glanced over at his silent companion.  Uncharacteristically mute, Spinelli hadn’t uttered a word since they had left the Davis house.  He had simply reached toward the dashboard and turning on the radio selected a jazz station.  Jason knew his friend better than anyone and it was obvious that he was suffering from a condition he had come to believe Spinelli might never again experience.  He was showing all the classic signs of infatuation.  He gazed pensively out into the night and occasionally, after raising his head to look up at the moon, an extended sigh of pure longing would escape his lips.  His long elegant fingers tapped restlessly on the top of the car door and Jason knew he was itching to be reunited with his laptop.  Hunched over his cyber companion until the wee hours of the night, he would probably release all his pent up feelings of romantic passion by writing some type of love poem or sonnet or something. 

They were whipping by Greystone Manor and both men turned to look at the dark mass of the solid gates and the endless encompassing walls.  Jason thought gloomily of the engagement party which would be held there tomorrow night and he knew that life-altering event was occupying Spinelli’s mind as well. 

Two months ago when Sonny peremptorily called him and Spinelli over to the restaurant to meet an associate of his, Giovanni Maretti, Jason had no idea what his old friend had in mind.  Spinelli was equally at a loss for an explanation and clearly bewildered to be included in an invitation to break bread with a man who could barely stand to be in the same room with him. 

At first the atmosphere between the four men, despite Conan’s best attempts to engage the diners upon vital questions concerning entrees and wine choices, was subdued.  Jason never made small talk and Spinelli was nervous and atypically quiet in an effort to avoid offending Sonny which particular event seemed to inadvertently occur anytime he opened his mouth around the crime boss.  Yet, surprisingly, it was Spinelli upon whom Sonny appeared to focus his attention.  He solicitously kept his wine glass full and plied him with questions that Spinelli answered in a small, uncertain voice, using monosyllables whenever possible.  Meanwhile, Sonny’s friend, Mr. Maretti, spent the bulk of the evening staring speculatively at Spinelli and his unnerving surveillance of the younger man made the hackles rise on Jason’s neck.  Spinelli himself was unaware of Maretti’s unblinking regard because he kept his head bowed and his eyes fixed firmly on the various plates placed before him for the duration of the meal.

Finally, the interminable dinner was over and Maretti and Sonny each marked the conclusion of the occasion by drinking a glass of Cognac and smoking a Cuban cigar.  “It’s a deal,” Maretti said, his dark eyes lingering once more on Spinelli who, beneath Conan’s disapproving stare, was listlessly pushing a slice of tiramisu  around a dessert plate with his fork.  Maretti grimaced oddly before reaching over to Sonny and, after briefly shaking hands with the other mob boss, levered himself up out of the booth.

Sonny grinned, his saturnine face lighting up with pleasure, it was clear he had gotten something he wanted from Maretti but Jason didn’t have a clue as to what that might be.  “You won’t regret it, Giovanni,” he called after the departing man.

Maretti waved his cigar in a gesture of farewell, the smoke lazily wreathing toward the ceiling while Conan coughed affectedly and swiped at the offending trail with a bar towel, “I better not, Sonny, I better not.” 

Jason looked suspiciously at Sonny, “What was that all about, Sonny?  What deal did you make with him and why was he staring at Spinelli like that?”

Spinelli looked up startled, “Mr. Sir’s bon ami was staring at the Jackal?”

“Yeah, he was,” Jason growled, not moving his eyes from Sonny, “And I want to know why.”

Sonny cleared his throat and blew out a smoke ring.  He smiled at Jason and Spinelli, a shark-like flash of teeth in the dimly lit restaurant as his black eyes absorbed rather than reflected the light from the overhanging lamp.  “Giovanni and I go way back but we’ve always been sort of friends, sort of rivals that type of thing.”

“Frenemies,” Spinelli muttered under his breath.

Sonny sent him a dark look of annoyance before belatedly remembering that he was actually happy, “Well we’ve both grown older and so have our children.  Giovanni has a couple of sons, great boys, and the eldest will take over the business for him one of these days.”  A flash of pain crossed his face as he momentarily remembered that none of his sons would be inheriting his business.  “Anyway, like it so often happens, it’s his daughter who causes him a lot of heartache, a lot of grief.  He was talking to me about that last week.  We were commiserating over how it’s easy to raise boys but with girls we got no clue.”  He grinned, just another frazzled dad who didn't quite know what to do with his daughter now that she was growing up.  “Anyway, Giovanni was telling me about how he wanted Laura, that’s his daughter and she’s very pretty,” this time it was obvious that Sonny was talking directly to Spinelli who looked back at him timidly, his expression entirely uncomprehending, “To settle down, get married and to have babies.  You know. so he can become a grandfather and stop worrying about what his little girl might be doing that could reflect badly on him.” 

“Sonny,” suddenly Jason was extremely worried, he didn’t at all care for the direction this conversation appeared to be heading, “What kind of deal did you make?”

Sonny looked over at Jason, impatience written across his face, he didn’t appreciate being questioned by his second in command.  “I made an arrangement, Jason,” he replied deliberately, “That in exchange for us combining resources and territories, I promised him a husband for his daughter.”

“A husband!”  Jason tossed his napkin on the table and stood up, “That’s going too far, Sonny.  You had no right to make that promise.” Jason was furious, his fists were repetitively clenching and unclenching as he valiantly fought to control his rage at his partner and long time friend.  “C’mon, Spinelli we’re leaving.” He snapped his command at the bewildered hacker who stood up in uneasy compliance not quite understanding why the two men were suddenly fighting but feeling dimly anxious that he was somehow the cause of their quarrel.

“It’s not your proposal to accept or refuse, Jason,” Sonny said with a smooth reasonableness, “It’s the kid’s.”

“He would say no anyway,” Jason retorted stubbornly, “I’m just saving him the trouble.”

“Spinelli,” Sonny switched his attention to the younger man, “You would like to be instrumental in making the organization bigger, making it run more smoothly and most of all, making it safer for Jason by substantially reducing the number of his enemies, wouldn’t you?”  He cocked his head inquiringly, staring directly at Spinelli while ignoring Jason’s outraged glare.

“The Jackal would aspire to do all that he could to ensure Stone’s Cold safety and longevity,” Spinelli answered Sonny cautiously, his eyes darting apprehensively between his irate mentor and the unruffled mob boss. 

“Well, then it’s settled,” Sonny grinned, leaning back into the booth, he stretched his arms along the curving back and carelessly flicked cigar ash onto the floor.  There was a responsive groan from the bar as Conan miserably registered the desecration of his once spotless floor.  “Spinelli wants to do all that he can to help the organization grow and to keep you safe.”

“He doesn’t know what you’re asking him to do to make that happen, Sonny,” Jason ground out, his face an implacable mask of dissension.

“Au contraire, Stone Cold,” Spinelli spoke up, his voice soft and hesitant, “The Jackal surmises that the agreement to obtain all those salubrious outcomes rests upon the lynchpin pact of Mr. Maretti marrying his daughter off to a suitably stable candidate who will provide her with security via hearth and home.”

“See, Jason,” Sonny looked at Spinelli with an oddly alien expression of approving benevolence, “The kid totally gets what’s being asked of him.It’s not like he’ll lose out by it either, the Marettis are an old fashioned family. Laura comes with a dowry which includes some prime waterfront properties down the coast a ways.”  




“So, that’s what this is all about,” Jason said with ill concealed disgust, “You’re planning to sell Spinelli to the highest bidder.  Well, forget it that’s not going to happen!”

Sonny scowled at his partner.  His brow creased in anger and his eyes flashed dangerously, “It’s not your decision to make, Jason, it’s the kid’s.”  He cocked his head and looked expectantly at Spinelli who was still standing, gracelessly trapped between the banquette and the table. “How about it, Spinelli?  Are you willing to do me and Jason,” he nodded dismissively at Jason who was standing there and silently fuming, his jaw muscle clamped tight and twitching under the strain as he glared balefully at Sonny, “This favor?  I promise you, it won’t go unrewarded.”

“Sonny,” Jason began, his voice heavy with warning when Spinelli put up a hand to prevent him from finishing whatever he was intending to say.  Jason stopped speaking and looked over at the hacker with a quizzical expression as he waited expectantly for him to be the one to put Sonny in his place.

Spinelli shook his head, his shaggy hair flying outwardly with the emphatic movement, “No reward is deemed necessary.  The Jackal is more than willing to participate in this endeavor for the reasons already made manifest.”

Sonny appeared a little unsure as to what Spinelli was saying, “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“No, it doesn’t!” Jason said just as Spinelli overlapped him and replied, “Indeed, it would be my honor to be of service to Mister Sir, the organization at large, and most especially to Stone Cold.”

“Spinelli,” Jason turned to hacker and ran an agitated hand through his hair, it was clear his usual composure was shaken by the younger man’s unexpected answer. “This isn’t right and I don’t want you to do it.  I am fine, I can take care of myself and  as to the security of the organization…” He paused and sent a challenging stare at Sonny, daring him to interfere, “Sonny will just have to find some other way to co-exist with the Maretti family and to get those piers, like buying them.” 

“Yet all those same goals can be assured through a much less complex and circuitous method, Stone Cold, by a simple ceremony, a joining of hands and interests as it were.”  Spinelli argued back, his green eyes shining with determination.

Jason wasn’t worried about Sonny’s opinion or authority in the matter.  After all he had years of experience of contravening his decisions when they proved deleterious to the organization or anyone unlucky enough to be caught up in his grandiose, ill planned out schemes.  He was also more than capable of standing up to him on Spinelli’s behalf but it was his roommate’s unforeseen attitude of cooperation which worried him.  Spinelli had a mulish expression on his face and Jason knew from bitter practice that in such circumstances it was almost impossible to swerve him from his chosen course.

“Spinelli,” he started, his voice beseeching him to understand the gravity of this rash decision, “You believe in true love and soul mates and romance but this proposition...” Jason stopped talking as he cast helplessly around for the magic words which would make his case but language was never his forte. Still, he had to try because Spinelli’s future happiness was at stake.  “Isn’t anything more than a short cut to a business deal that can be achieved some other way and if it can’t-well, then too bad!”

Spinelli heard Jason out politely, his lips curling into a small smile when his mentor mentioned his predilection for romantic love, “Stone Cold is correct that is how I _used_ to view love as something ordained by the stars and serendipity. Yet, alas, life itself has proven over and over that such a philosophy is little more than a fallacy better left to lie fallow between the aegis of immortal poetry and interchangeable romance novels.  I have determined that the incarnation of love in the actual world is much better undertaken as, are most things, with pragmatism and a lack of emotional investment.”

“Spinelli, you can’t believe that, not you…” His voice faltered, Jason didn’t know what else to say to convince his roommate that his decision wasn’t a prudent one. 

It was true that it had been a long time, years actually, since Spinelli had fallen under the spell of one of his ill fated infatuations which used to occur with monotonous regularity when he first came to live at the penthouse.  Still, he couldn’t pinpoint precisely when or, more importantly, why the younger man’s view of love had undergone such a radical transformation. 

Sonny was quiet throughout the duration of Jason and Spinelli’s conversation.  He was simply content to let them argue it out since he too knew how impossible it was to alter the hacker’s mind once he was set upon a course of action.  Yet, it appeared now might be the right time for him to intervene in support of Spinelli’s position. “Jason, nobody’s twisting the kid’s arm.  He’s telling you that he understands what’s involved and that he wants to do it in order to help us out.” 

Sonny knew he shouldn’t give into the unwise impulse, but he was unable to quell the cocky grin that rose to the surface as he registered Jason’s frustration at not being able to get through to Spinelli.  It was a rare occasion indeed when Spinelli went against Jason’s wishes and even more singular when Sonny and Spinelli were in accord on an issue and the mob boss was going to bask in his unanticipated victory.  Sonny had realized that Jason would oppose this plan from the start and he thought that Spinelli would most likely follow his lead as he almost invariably did.  It was quite a pleasant surprise to find that he didn’t have to bully or pressure Spinelli into doing what he wanted because truthfully, he doubted he could have overcome Jason’s resistance or contravene his influence over Spinelli.

“Stone Cold, the Jackal appreciates your concern on his behalf but he assures you it isn’t necessary.  Arranged marriages have existed for millennia.  They used to be the societal norm and have recently been enjoying a resurgence in some countries like India which have a venerable heritage of embracing the practice.” Spinelli paused and peered at Jason’s face to try and determine what impact his words were having upon his roommate’s overt disapproval of Sonny’s plan.  “Actually, the divorce rate for arranged marriages is lower than that of purely love based unions.  The family of the bride and groom try to match the prospective couple in terms of social stature, income, cultural and religious backgrounds.  While I am sure it is initially a difficult adjustment, over time the couple usually comes to a point where they each appreciate and love their partner.  The eventual bond formed with the addition of children into the family unit is a remarkably enduring one.  I prefer to think of it as the perfect melding of mind and heart.”

“That sounds great, Spinelli, really,” Jason said testily, “But that’s _not_ what is happening here.  Sonny is using you as a bargaining chip and neither he nor Mr. Maretti appear to be the least concerned about you and uh, Lisa…”

“Laura,” Sonny and Spinelli corrected him simultaneously.

“Laura,” Jason growled out between gritted teeth, “Having any compatibility.  As a matter of fact she sounds like she causes a lot of problems for her father and he wants to hand her over in order for you to fix her behavior.  That isn’t a fair assignment for you to be expected to undertake Spinelli and it’s certainly not what a marriage ought to be about.” 

Jason’s voice softened as he looked directly at Spinelli, his voice and demeanor both formed into a pleading combination as he fervently attempted to get him to agree to drop the whole stupid idea so that they could go home and forget tonight had ever happened.  Personally, Jason didn’t care what problems such a contrary resolution would cause between Maretti and Sonny.  As far as he was concerned, it would serve them both right for trying to treat these two young people as little more than pieces in an intricate game of chess.

Spinelli sighed as he endeavored to placate Jason’s concern, “The Jackal has no intention of marrying the young woman sight unseen.  He will meet her and make a decision as to the probability of such an alliance being successful.  Is that enough of a concession for Stone Cold to allow the plan to go forward?”

Jason shrugged unhappily while he intentionally ignored the gloating grin on Sonny’s face.  He knew he was close to punching his partner and such an action on his part would just make the situation that much worse though he thought it might definitely make him feel better.

 “If that’s what you want,” Jason said in baffled resignation.

 


	5. The First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spinelli and Laura meet but things don't go smoothly.

It was only a scant week after the dinner with Maretti when the first face to face meeting between the proposed bride and groom occurred high above the streets of Port Charles on the terrace of the Metro Court restaurant.  Carly had reserved the entire outdoor seating area for the intimates of both parties.  The bride’s side was represented by Maretti, his two sons, Carmine and Paolo, and, of course, Laura herself.  The putative groom’s party consisted of Sonny, Jason, Sam, Spinelli, Carly and Jax.  When Carly heard about the reason for the private reservation, she insisted that she be present to check out the suitability of the potential bride and her familial connections.  Privately, Jason was banking on Carly demanding that precise concession.  He knew that Carly loved Spinelli as much as any of her children and that she would be fiercely protective of both his interests and his heart.  Jason wanted there to be a sizable contingent of people at the meal whose only outlook was Spinelli’s welfare.  As far as Jason was concerned, Sonny was to be considered a member of the enemy encampment.

Sonny hadn’t lied, Laura was pretty but her looks weren’t of the kind Jason appreciated.  She had platinum blond hair which was teased and styled into a frozen cascade of waves and ringlets that added a good four inches to her petite build.  Her blue eyes were heavily made up with bright, azure-colored eye shadow and her eyelashes were long and spiky enough that Jason thought they might be designated weapons in their own right.  Laura’s mouth was a broad slash of crimson in her pale face while her teeth were sparkling white and even, an obvious result of expensive orthodontics.  Jason idly wondered what her naked face might look like but it was difficult to tell since she was wearing so much makeup that it was almost as obscuring of her true features as a Kabuki mask would have been.

She wore a stark white pantsuit which clung carelessly to every curve of her body.  Her breasts were too large for her small frame and it was probable they were a result of artificial enhancement, most likely a companion treatment to the effort which had created her perfect teeth.  Laura and her stocky, open faced brother, Carmine, appeared to be in some sort of sibling competition as to which one could wear more jewelry.  They were each adorned with a number of large and clunky gold chains which managed to look simultaneously expensive and vulgar.  In addition to the necklaces, they also both wore several bracelets which clinked distractingly every time either of them reached for a glass or one of the hors d’oeuvres the circulating waiters brought by as they all stood around awkwardly chatting prior to sitting down to eat.  In stark contrast to his siblings, Laura’s other brother, was an oasis of calm in this rampant sea of materialism.  Easily half a foot taller than his brother, he was dressed entirely in black-shirt, jacket, pants and shoes-but it was the telltale gleam of white at his neck which clearly delineated his vocation.

Giovanni confirmed it when he introduced his children, “This is Paolo, my youngest” he said proudly, “He’ll be performing the wedding mass.”

Ever alert to an opportunity to sabotage Sonny and Giovanni’s unpalatable alliance, Jason eagerly grabbed at the first potential chink he had seen in their arrangement, “Well, that might not be possible,” he said trying to sound regretful, “Spinelli’s not Catholic.”

“He’s not?” Giovanni’s tone was sharp as he stared accusingly at Sonny.  “Why didn’t you tell me this before, Sonny?  With a name like Spinelli, I just assumed...”  A vertical crease appeared between his eyes as the other mobster appeared to be quite upset at the unwelcome news. Gratified at Giovanni’s displeased reaction, Jason began to relax; it seemed that this debacle might be over before it started. Then the worst thing about the occasion would be that Sam had forced him into wearing a suit and tie.

It gratified Jason to see Sonny looking disconcerted at the unexpected revelation that Spinelli wasn’t a declared member of the Catholic Church.  It was obvious that he hadn’t  given any thought to the religious aspect of the pairing.  Still, Sonny recovered quickly and, shrugging, made a dismissive gesture with his hand as though he were shooing away a pesky fly.  “I didn’t know,” he admitted candidly, “Still, it’s no problem, Giovanni.  The kid can take instruction and convert before the wedding. Right, Spinelli?” Sonny looked inquiringly at the young private investigator.

Spinelli cocked his head as he pondered what Sonny had said.  Then he shrugged in return, “The Jackal has no objection to taking on the external trappings of a faith based observation but he must be honest, he doesn’t believe in a supreme universal deity.”

There it was, the reprieve he had been searching for!  Jason let out a sigh of relief, Spinelli’s admission of being an atheist was all that was required to end this farce.  If they were really lucky, they wouldn’t even need to stay and eat lunch.  He, Sam and Spinelli could all order some Chinese, change out of these stifling clothes and watch a movie to celebrate his roommate’s narrow escape.

Giovanni looked sharply at Sonny who returned his speculative stare with interest.  Then together they turned as one and said to Spinelli, “Yeah, that’ll work.”

“It will?” Jason was dazed, if he knew of her, he might have felt a kinship with Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole.

“Sure,” Giovanni said with an easy bonhomie.  He reached over and wrapping his arm around Jason’s shoulders leaned in and said in a whisper that everyone within a five feet radius could easily discern, “The kid takes instruction, converts so he can go to mass, take communion and everybody’s happy.  Believing…” he gave an uncaring shrug, “That’s personal, between a man’s soul and God.  It’s Spinelli’s choice to risk his chances at not making it to the afterlife.”

Jason scowled at the mob boss as he shook his unwelcome arm away.  He didn’t like being freely touched by anyone but his avowed romantic partner.  In addition, he surely hadn’t invited Giovanni’s intimate confidences about his religious views or his easygoing prediction that Spinelli, by not believing in God, was risking going to hell. 

“Spinelli,” he said with a hot conviction which astonished himself and everyone in the luncheon party who all knew how rare it was for him to react to a situation with such raw emotion, “Is the single best person I have ever known.  If there is a God or a heaven, his admission ticket has long since been punched.”

Spinelli was staring at Jason, awestruck by his openly expressed words of faith in him.  He blushed and ducked his head, embarrassed that his most private beliefs and personal integrity were being bandied around in open discussion.

Giovanni further surprised everyone by laughing out loud at Jason’s fervent defense of his friend.  Chuckling, he nodded his head approvingly, “I like that, the kid’s already handed his admission ticket over to the conductor on the heavenly express.  You got a handle on some great imagery there, Jason.”  He reached over and punched the mobster in his right bicep, “Still, ticket or no, Spinelli’s got to convert or there’s not gonna be a wedding.  There’s no way my little girl’s marrying a nonbeliever cause my grandkids gotta be raised right, raised in the church as good and proper Catholics.”

“Jason!”  Sonny’s voice was loud and peremptory, brooking no allowance for disobedience.  He had seen his friend’s face grow set and cold when Giovanni dared to punch Jason and he correctly interpreted the fact that the enforcer was a hair’s breadth away from retaliating.  Sonny realized that a violent reaction to such an innocuous act would quite possibly result in a mob war rather than a wedding. “Why don’t we all take our seats,” he added, casting a frazzled glance in Carly’s direction as he silently pleaded with her for help.

Carly pursed her lips as she stared at Sonny in stony disapproval for his part in arranging this charade of a social gathering.  Then with a resigned sigh, she adopted her hostess persona and, pasting on a falsely bright smile, began shepherding everyone to their seats at a large round table which was protected from the bright spring sunshine by a large and cheerful yellow umbrella.  The rest of the terrace was empty of any other guests in order to assure the complete dining privacy of the two families as they became acquainted with one another.

At first, the divergent assemblage of guests managed to compensate for the expected discomfiture of a group of strangers sitting down together for a meal by focusing on the customary initial period when everyone was busy ordering their drinks.  Then the inevitable silence settled over the table and it looked as though this all important first encounter might instead end as a disastrous fiasco without the young couple or their family members interacting with one another.  Jason was one of the few people at the table not in the least disconcerted by the sudden quietude.  Instead, he was actually beginning to hope that the uncomfortable social interlude might manage to convince everyone else what a very bad idea this whole arranged marriage was turning out to be.

Jason scowled in uncomplicated irritation at Jax who was the first to throw a wrench into his simple plan for sabotage by turning and speaking to the young bride-to-be.  “So, Laura,” he began, flashing the young woman a muted version of his patented brilliant smile, “What sorts of things keep you occupied?”

Laura paused and looked up from her bright red nails which she had been scanning with a bored scrutiny in a vain search for a nick or a scratch in their glossy enameled perfection.  She started to shrug her shoulders as she popped her gum and then her gaze sharpened as she took in the smiling appearance of the handsome blonde Australian.  Her demeanor subtly altered and she leaned across her brother Paolo, who was sitting between the two of them.  The deliberate movement stretched the fine silky fabric of the blouse she was wearing under her white jacket so that it clearly delineated her perfectly molded breasts as the thin material caught against the erect nipples.  It was suddenly uncomfortably evident to every person sitting at the round table that Laura wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Well,” she flashed her sharp white teeth at Jax in a predatory smile, “I like to go shopping, take trips to the Caribbean or get a spa treatment but,” she paused dramatically, aware without having to check that every person at the table was listening in avid fascination to her litany, “The thing I like to do best is something I just can’t discuss in mixed company.”  She giggled maliciously as she glanced at her younger brother who was flushing in embarrassment.

Laura sat back languorously in her chair and reached for her class of chardonnay all the while studiously ignoring her father’s outraged, “Laura Marie!”

Carly’s eyes narrowed while she tightly gripped her napkin in her lap in an attempt to keep from lunging over the table and strangling the little slut. Carly wasn’t even sure if her reaction was predicated on jealousy over the tramp daring to flirt with Jax or at the idea that this slut, this entirely inappropriate female, was being considered as a suitable life partner for Spinelli. 

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” she muttered grimly under her breath, grabbing for her own glass of merlot and taking a calming sip.

Jason’s own reaction to Laura’s provocative remark was on par with Carly’s.  He stole a quick glance at Spinelli who was seated next to Sam.  Spinelli’s face wore a shocked expression which was a twin to the look worn by a hapless Paolo.  He stared in disbelief at Laura, his mouth slightly open as though he was trying to determine if he had heard her correctly. 

Laura noticed his stunned reaction and her expression was scornful as she asked him, “What, don’t tell me that’s not one of your favorite things to do too, _Damian_ ,” it was impossible to miss the derision underlying the way she said his name, “I sure never met a real man who didn’t feel exactly that way.”

Sam spoke up quickly before either Jason or Carly did or said something they couldn’t take back.  “I think a real lady and certainly a real gentleman, such as Spinelli,” her voice was icy and her eyes flashed in dislike as she glared across the table at the blonde who was once again indifferently examining her nails, “Knows the right time and place to talk about such things.”

“The lady is right,” Giovanni’s own face was as red as his younger son’s was mere moments ago due to a combination of mortification and anger.  “It’s not acceptable for you to say such things, missy.”  He glanced around the table and raised the palms of his hand in a gesture of supplication, “Laura has lacked the softening touch of a mother and I have indulged her more than I should have.  That’s exactly why I think she needs to get married and have some children of her own.  Then she will understand what it is to think of someone beside herself.”

Laura shot her father a look of sheer loathing but she didn’t say a word to either support or contradict his contention.  Both her brothers remained silent as well.  Carmine appeared to be completely oblivious to the tension around the table as he unconcernedly helped himself to olives and cheese from the platter of appetizers Carly had ordered.  For his part, Paolo might as well have been carved from wood.  Beyond his original mortified response to his sister’s deliberately aggravating reply to Jax, he hadn’t uttered a word or shown any form of emotion after the original introductions were made.

Sonny decided he needed to show solidarity with Giovanni, “Yeah, a man can raise his sons by himself but a girl needs a mother’s touch.” He was completely insensible of the irritated stares sent his way by Carly, Sam and even Laura’s much more expressive exasperated rolling of her eyes, “I think both these kids can benefit from being married.  It’ll help them grow up.”  He shot a censorious look at Spinelli whose gaze was firmly fixed on his plate in an echo of his self-effacing behavior from the evening when the proposed alliance was first broached.

“Your wife is deceased?” Naturally, the question originated from Jax who was the only person at the table who hadn’t entirely given up on the concept of having a civilized discourse.

Giavanni looked at him with an expression of ill concealed impatience.  He replied cursorily, “Yeah, she died when Paolo was still a baby.  The kids grew up under the care of nannies.”

Jason found himself watching Giovanni’s children rather than their father.  He was disturbed to see almost identical expressions of fear and revulsion on their faces as Giovanni talked without any visible signs of regret about his wife’s demise.  Jason exchanged glances with Sam and he was relieved to see she had noticed the edgy response of the Maretti siblings as well.  Their eyes met and an unspoken understanding was exchanged between them as both their gazes focused protectively upon Spinelli’s downcast head.

 


	6. Saving Spinelli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason wants Spinelli out of this arranged marriage and he enlists Sam to help him attain that goal.

Later that afternoon the three of them walked into the penthouse. After irritably tugging at his tie during the entirety of the elevator ride up, Jason finally managed to unknot it and, with a sigh of relief, he removed the hated piece of attire from around his neck and flung it carelessly away.  It landed on the edge of the desk chair and slithered down to finish in a crumpled heap on the floor.  Spinelli bent over to retrieve the abandoned piece of blue silk and coiling it up placed it carefully on the desktop. 

“So,” Jason was talking as though he and the other two had all been in the midst of a conversation rather than realizing that he was actually continuing aloud the internal dialogue he’d been carrying on since leaving the Metro Court after that interminable lunch. “Once I get changed, I’ll go directly to Sonny and tell him that regretfully, you won’t be marrying Laura Maretti.”

Jason was already climbing the stairs, followed closely by Sam, when Spinelli spoke up, his tone clearly indicating that he was bemused, “The Jackal has no memory of making any such absolute statement of matrimonial refusal, Stone Cold.”

Jason paused and looked back at him, his brow furrowed, “No, but I know you can’t want to marry that…woman, Spinelli.” He controlled himself and managed to avoid employing the epithet which he felt much better fit his contemptuous opinion of Laura Maretti. 

Spinelli shrugged indifferently as he began to work at loosening his own tie, “She might not be enamored of the Jackal at the moment.  Yet, hopefully as we get to know one another better that attitude will change and she will be more kindly disposed toward him.”

This time it was Sam who couldn’t resist jumping in, “Kindly disposed, that’s all you want from you wife, your life partner, Spinelli, that she feel kindly toward you?” She stepped down from the lowest step and moved back toward him.  Reaching out, Sam placed a gentle hand on his arm, “Spinelli, Jason and I want better than that bleached blonde harpy for you.  You should want better for you.”  She looked up at him, her brown eyes beseeching, “I know you think that you’ve struck out at love so many times that all that is left for you to do is to settle.  That’s not right, Spinelli, it’s not,” She reached up with other hand and stroked his cheek while he listened intently to her every word, his eyes glinting with some unspecified emotion, “Any woman would be lucky to have you and you need to believe that. Please don’t throw your happiness away on someone who doesn’t deserve your loyal and loving heart.” 

Sam didn’t have anything else to say, she’d pleaded her case to the best of her ability.  She waited in apprehensive silence for Spinelli’s response.

Spinelli enigmatically regarded at Sam for long beat of time before replying, “Fair Samantha’s concern for the Jackal is touching but misplaced.  He wishes to enter upon this contractual arrangement more now than ever.”

Jason retraced his own steps back down to the foyer so as to be in close proximity with Sam and Spinelli, “Why, Spinelli?” He uttered the words in a growl of frustration.

Spinelli paused for a moment before responding and then his lips quirked upward and he stared intently at Jason as though it was just the two of them alone in the penthouse, “As always, Stone Cold, to be of assistance to you.”

Those simple but cryptic words signaled the end of the discussion.  Jason sighed in apparent grudging acceptance as he and Sam resumed their interrupted trek upstairs.  Yet, that wasn’t close to the end of the matter as far as Jason was concerned.  Instead, he was simply forced to go underground.  Whenever his conscience felt twinges of remorse about the things he was doing behind his friend’s back, he quelled it by rationalizing that it was all for the idiotic kid’s own good. 

A little over a week later, Spinelli burst exuberantly through the front door of the penthouse.  His arms were wrapped around a large and cumbersome paper sack while his laptop bag hung haphazardly across his chest.  “Greetings all,” he called out cheerfully as he turned and with a sigh of relief deposited the heavy bag on the top of the desk.  “The Jackal has bought sustenance for all and sundry and then he promises to retreat to his pink domicile in order that Stone Cold and Fair Samantha may have an evening of peace and quiet sans his irksome presence.  After all, it is Fair Samantha’s first night back from her mysterious trip about which she has been most uncharacteristically enigmatic.”  Spinelli smiled at Sam, sitting on the couch next to Jason, his expression showing nothing but unfeigned pleasure at her return.  He pulled his messenger bag over his head and placed it carefully on the chair in front of the desk.  Once his prized cyber companion was safely stowed he then turned his attention to the bag holding the food.  Spinelli reached into the depths of the sack and quickly retrieved container after container of small cardboard boxes which were warm to the touch and emitted enticingly fragrant odors.  “I even side stepped my own natural impulse to go to Kelly’s for takeout and instead visited our local Chinese eatery. I believe that Fair Samantha patronage is singularly responsible for a fair share of their increase in profits now that she is once again residing with us at Casa de Stone Cold.”

Finally, it permeated Spinelli’s consciousness that his endless stream of chatter was going uncontested by either an appreciative Sam or an irritated Jason.  He paused in the act of removing a final box of rice and turned to look at the silent couple sitting awkwardly on the couch, wearing matching somber expressions, as they stared back at him.

Spinelli cocked his head, a vertical frown line forming between his eyes. “The Jackal senses that all is not right.  Has something untoward transpired of which he ought to be made aware?”

Jason spoke for the first time since Spinelli entered the penthouse, “Come sit down, we have something to show you.”

Leaving the food behind on the desk, Spinelli did as he was bid and walked warily over to where the others were seated.  He lowered himself into a chair which was angled toward the sofa and once he was settled he turned to face Jason and Sam, his face creased with anxiety.

Without preamble, Jason thrust a manila file folder toward his roommate, “Here, read this.”

Spinelli took the proffered folder and sent a curious stare toward Sam who just bit her lip and looked away from him.  He opened it and began perusing the contents.  At first he read intently, carefully scanning each individual page.  Then, as he slowly began to realize the implications of the information enclosed within the innocuous cardboard confines of the file, he started to flip rapidly through the different documents and pictures contained within it, only glancing briefly at any one item before hastily moving onto the next. 

Finally, Spinelli was finished with his examination and with a moue of disgust he threw the offending dossier onto the coffee table. The folder lay inertly where it landed while damaging pages of text documents and glossy photographs spilled haphazardly out onto the ribbed metal surface of the table.  Spinelli dry scrubbed at his face and then ran his fingers through his hair completely disarranging what little styling of the unruly mop had managed to survive a long and eventful day.

“I’m sorry, Spinelli,” Sam was the first to break the silence, her voice low and timid. 

“Sorry?”  Spinelli stared at her stupefied, “That’s the sum total of expiation I can expect to receive from you as recompense for this most foul and unsolicited violation of privacy?”  His words crackled with anger and Sam stared at him in astonishment.  She couldn’t remember ever seeing her mild mannered partner so furious before and it was most disconcerting to have his rage directed at her.

“That’s enough, Spinelli!”  Jason’s voice was sharp as he reprimanded the younger man.  “You’re wrong, it wasn’t an unsolicited act on Sam’s part.  I asked her to do it,” His voice softened as he attempted to reason with his friend.  He was as taken aback at Spinelli’s uncharacteristic loss of temper as Sam was.  “I…we were worried about you and rightly so it seems.”

Spinelli stared at Jason, his eyes cold and unfriendly, “I see, you embarked upon this intrusive pathway because you were convinced that the Jackal once again needed saving from his own incompetence.  I suppose next I should be expressing my gratitude that my partner and my best friend went not only behind my back in garnering this…this,” he gestured at the file in disgust, “Explicit material but that it happened against my express wishes as well.”

“We did it to protect you, Spinelli,” Sam joined in the argument, “We didn’t want you to get hurt and we thought if we showed you what type of person Laura is that she’s even worse than…” 

Spinelli gave a sharp bark of bitter laughter as Sam realized what she had almost said, really might as well have finished saying since everyone in the room knew the single word needed to complete the sentence.  “Worse than Maxie,” Spinelli did it for her, his voice devoid of inflection. 

Spinelli rubbed at his cheek with the palm of his hand as he contemplated the papers lying in mute and irrefutable accusation upon the low lying coffee table.  Then he gave a sharp shake of his head as though he had reached a decision, “I know you both are concerned for me and because I understand that, I shan’t hold this trespass into Laura’s personal life against you.”  Jason started to speak but Spinelli imperiously held up a hand to forestall him. “Yet, mark my words now.  I entirely comprehend what you wished for me to know about her past transgressions and lifestyle choices but it makes no difference to my ultimate decision.  I fully intend to marry Laura Maretti and so let that be an end to the matter.” Spinelli stood up, his face lined with fatigue and something that Jason feared might be disillusionment, “The Jackal is weary and thinks he shall forego supper.  He bids you a good night.”

When they were once again alone in the living room Sam turned to Jason, “Well, that went well.” She was aiming for a light sardonic tone but only managed to sound like a little girl who has just fought with her best friend over something inconsequential.  She stood up with a sigh and headed over to the desk, “I guess it makes me a horrible person but that food smells so damn good and I for one am not going to let it go to waste.”

Sam came back with two of the containers, she handed one to Jason who accepted it and desultorily placed it next to the papers on the coffee table.  Sam sighed at his rejection of the food.  Splitting open a pair of wooden chopsticks, she used the simple utensils to expertly extract a few pieces of chicken and noodles from the box and levered them into her mouth.  Jason paid no attention to either the food or to Sam as she rejoined him on the couch.  His eyes were unfocused and it was clear he was planning something new.

“Jason,” Sam elbowed him, “You heard Spinelli, he’s made his decision and we have to respect it.  Anyway, what else can you do?  We showed him all the evidence of how she lives her life and if that doesn’t faze him nothing will.”

Jason just grunted in response and Sam continued to eat.  She thought back to all the effort involved in digging up every piece of dirt she could find on Laura Maretti.  The girl hadn’t lied at the disastrous luncheon, her favorite thing to do was absolutely something which couldn’t be mentioned in polite society.  All the pictures and reports in the file were of a recent origin, each occasion documented having occurred since the original encounter between the future bride and groom. 

The very next day after the meeting between the two families, Jason had hired Sam to commit all her time to investigating Laura.  Sam left Spinelli in charge of the Port Charles office while she spent all her days and nights down south in New York, or, more precisely, Manhattan.  She found herself endlessly tailing Laura from one club opening to another and from one sexual assignation to another but never once had they involved the same man or men.  She effortlessly captured picture after picture of Laura drinking copious amounts of liquor, performing lewd acts in public and disappearing into hotels for a few short hours at a time.  After which brief interlude she would reappear, her clothes, hair and makeup slightly disheveled, to go right back over to some anonymous club where she would pick up a new man, a total stranger, and replay the whole scenario over again, night after night. 

By the tenth day, Sam was finished.  She felt numb and dirty by association and there was no need for further documentation.  When she brought the crisp photographs and clear cut timelines and list of names to Jason it appeared to be an open and shut case.  Show this incontrovertible material of Laura’s licentious ways to Spinelli, console him for being a dupe and the nightmare would be over.  Then the three of them would go back to how it was before Giovanni Maretti and Sonny Corinthos cooked up their bizarre attempt at playing matchmaker.  Yet, now it appeared that those eternal hours on stakeout, during which she drank too much bad coffee and grew tired of the rotation of songs on her portable music player, were all in vain.  Spinelli clearly now realized what Laura was and he wasn’t in denial.  Yet, for some obscure reason, he still intended to marry the slut.

Sam tried once more, “Jason what exactly do you think you can do now that Spinelli knows everything and he still plans to marry her?  If you try to sabotage the wedding or go behind his back again, he might react in an unpredictable way.  Spinelli might even cut you or us out of his life altogether.”  Sam didn’t want that unfathomable outcome and neither did Jason, she was sure of it. 

Jason stared vaguely at her, it was clear his mind was still somewhere else.  He leaned over and absentmindedly kissed Sam’s forehead.  “I’m going to protect him.”  He said with simple finality. 


	7. Sacrificing Spinelli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lawyers get involved.

Chapter 7: Sacrificing Spinelli

The very next day, Jason began his strategically planned counter offensive.  He went to Sonny’s office and waited with ill-concealed impatience for Sonny to finish giving instructions to Max and Milo about some assignment.  “Don’t screw it up!” Were his brusque parting words to the brawny backs of the Giambatti brothers as they exited his office.  Settling back into his red leather office chair, Sonny turned his attention to Jason. Sonny rocked back and forth as he eyed Jason speculatively, “What’s on your mind?”

Jason paced restlessly in front of Sonny’s desk, collecting his thoughts as he considered the best way to present what he wanted Sonny to do.  Eventually, after Sonny started fiddling with an enameled letter opener, a familiar sign indicating that he was becoming impatient with Jason’s silence, the enforcer spoke abruptly, “I want you to call Maretti and tell him that we want a prenuptial agreement between Laura and Spinelli.”

Whatever Sonny was expecting Jason to say this clearly wasn’t it.  Yet, as soon as Sonny comprehended what his second in command was requesting from him, he frowned as he said “I’m not going to do that, Jason.” 

His voice was firm but he held back on projecting through his tone the full depth of irritation that he felt at Jason’s unreasonable request.  Sonny could never comprehend why Jason felt compelled to protect Spinelli the same way he did Michael but this was one time he knew he needed to tread carefully.  Without the geeky kid’s cooperation this much anticipated merger wasn’t going to happen and Sonny had invested too much effort into smoothing the way for him to allow it to go under because of Jason getting upset about some aspect of the arrangement.  Hell, he had plans, big plans, for those warehouses and piers down the coastline.  He sure wasn’t going to let the vital future expansion of the organization get screwed up because Jason was worried about Spinelli’s marital rights. 

“Yes, you are,” Jason was now standing in front of Sonny’s desk, his body was tense as he glared at his partner, “Because if you don’t Sonny, I will make sure this glorified merger of yours gets shot out of the water.”  He didn’t say anything else.  He didn’t have to because everyone knew Jason Morgan didn’t make idle threats.

Sonny swallowed uneasily, it was clear that Jason possessed some information which he knew nothing about.  Sonny fully believed that whatever it might involve, it would   most likely be damaging enough to derail the wedding plans.  He also realized that Jason wouldn’t use anything that could hurt Spinelli so whatever it was must paint Laura, or her father, in an incriminating light. 

‘It’s probably something that idiot hacker dug up for him using his magic laptop,’ Sonny thought to himself.  He felt furious and frustrated at having to concede to Jason’s wishes in the matter.

Carefully keeping his face expressionless, Sonny stared at Jason for a few moments as he tapped his fingers on the desktop.  It was a manufactured pretense of reluctance. In truth, it was merely an attempt by the mob boss to salvage his pride in front of his former protégé before he capitulated to his demands, an outcome which was something they each recognized as a foregone conclusion.  Jason, acknowledging that he had won the concession he wanted, stood patiently in front of the desk as he allowed Sonny to maintain the façade that he was in control of the interaction.

Sonny rubbed at the back of his neck in an attempt to relieve the dull ache from tense muscles, “All right, I’ll call Giovanni and set up a meeting so that the kids can sign a pre-nuptial agreement.”

Sonny was mildly disturbed by the wolf-like smile Jason gave him in response to his partner’s concession, “Don’t worry, Sonny,” Jason promised, relenting now that he had gotten exactly what he came for, “I’ll make sure you won’t lose by it.”

Five days later, Giovanni Maretti, his daughter Laura and some unnamed man in a suit, who looked like he could have auditioned for a part as an undertaker but was actually the Maretti lawyer, sat in uncomfortably close quarters across from Jason, Diane Miller and Spinelli at _Positano’s_.  Sonny was sitting in a turned around chair at the free end of the booth table.  Even Conan wasn’t brave enough to ask anyone in the ill-assembled group if they wanted something to eat or drink.  The antagonism radiating between the two factions, seated across from one other, was palpable.

“Look,” Giovanni’s temper was clearly fraying though, up until this point in the discussion, he had only taken his escalating pique out on the unfortunate cigar clenched between his teeth.  The tattered and frayed end of one of Sonny’s treasured Cubans  was continually ground down as he gnawed upon it while observing the unceasing presentation of what seemed to the older mob boss indecipherable and arcane matters indicating to him a legal sleight of hand at work.  “I still don’t understand the necessity for this paperwork.  Sonny and I agreed on the arrangement, we shook on it and that ought to be good enough.  It always has been in all my other business dealings.”  He’d made several variations of this same speech ever since the meeting began over forty-five minutes ago.

“Yes,” Diane replied with heavy sarcasm, her small store of patience having been used up within the first quarter of an hour, “That was a wonderful time back when men were men and women knew their place was to be traded like chattel.  Still, Mr. Maretti, it is the mark of a sophisticated and wise man that recognizes the times they are a changing and it behooves one to move with them.  Here in the twenty-first century it has become quite commonplace to have pre-marital agreements intended to protect the assets of each of the participants in the marriage.”

“We’re a Catholic family, Miss. Miller,” Giovanni said in stubborn rebuttal to her assertions. “My youngest is even a fully ordained priest.  There isn’t any need for a pre-nuptial agreement because there won’t be a divorce, ever.” The final word was emphasized with a heavy menace that was impossible to miss as he directed a threatening glare first at Spinelli and then at his daughter, neither of whom had so far said a word during the proceedings.

Spinelli’s protests had already been aired to Jason prior to the meeting.  “Stone Cold, I asked you to not interfere any further in my decision.”  Spinelli was more upset than Jason could ever recall him being.  It wasn’t his usual excitable anger but an alien, cold quietness which Jason distinctly disliked being directed his way.

“I’m not trying to prevent the marriage, Spinelli,” Jason was speaking the unvarnished truth, he was no longer pursuing that particular goal, now he was solely focused on damage control, “This isn’t a simple marriage between a couple of young people with only a few possessions.  It’s an alliance between two powerful families and there are a lot of economic issues to consider.  The pre-nuptial arrangement will protect both you and Laura.  You should want to sign it as a gesture which proves that you are entirely uninterested in marrying Laura for any sort of financial gain.”

Jason was so very grateful for all the time he had spent before the bathroom mirror practicing that exact speech as he saw the lines of suspicion slowly smooth out from Spinelli’s face.  “I never thought of it in quite those terms,” he said thoughtfully. While Jason relaxed as he realized that one more small but critical battle in this all important war was won. 

“No doubt you are entirely correct, Sir,” Diane said shooting a cynical glance at Sonny who just stared back at her with a raised eyebrow, “I am certain Mr. Spinelli would never in any way renege on either his vows or his duty to your daughter.” 

Neither she nor Jason had missed his thinly veiled warning toward the young couple and neither liked it.  Still, Diane recognized had a job to perform in order to protect Spinelli’s interests.  Unfortunately, that more pressing obligation outweighed her overwhelming desire to order a nice Chianti just so she could throw it in Giovanni’s sanctimonious faces.  Two glasses, she mentally amended, one for Sonny as well. 

“Though I am not equally acquainted with Miss. Maretti’s character so as to vouch for her, I will take your word as surety that neither will she be the one to break the sacred bond of matrimony.  Therefore, if we are all so assured that they will be together long enough to celebrate their Golden Anniversary happily surrounded by their devoted children and grandchildren,” Diane smiled cruelly at the spontaneous gasp which erupted from Laura as she stared at the lawyer in ill disguised dismay, “What harm then is there in this document which by that time will be lying forgotten and moldering in our respective offices, hmmh?” 

Diane looked at Giovanni with a victorious expression, it was clear she had outfoxed the old devil.  She could feel Jason’s arm pressing against her own as they sat scrunched together along the narrow bench, the delineated muscles tightly coiled as he awaited Giovanni’s response. 

Diane felt a flash of remorse as she remembered that this wasn’t a normal game of legal cat and mouse but a vital gambit in an overarching scheme to keep Spinelli as insulated and protected from the inevitable fallout of this misguided union as humanly possible.  One look at Laura Maretti’s overdone hair and makeup, never mind her entirely inappropriate shoes (black flats with a white pantsuit, who does that?) had convinced Diane of the vital need for shielding her vulnerable grasshopper from this entirely inappropriate match far more than any of the mob enforcer’s surprisingly impassioned speeches on the same topic. 

Seeing was entirely believing in this case and Diane, unlike Jason, wasn’t as of yet, entirely resigned to the impossibility of averting the marriage itself.  Never say die was the mantra of every well trained trial lawyer right up until the moment when the plunger of the syringe was being pushed and the deadly drugs began circulating in the condemned prisoner’s body.  It was a destiny she oftentimes visualized for Sonny but until that fateful day she intended to fleece him of every billable dollar she could.  She would have charged Sonny for drawing up this particular pre-nuptial agreement as well as for today’s meeting if Jason hadn’t demanded that he pay her so that there could be no question of her representing anyone but Spinelli in this quagmire that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with opportunistic greed.

Giovanni scratched doubtfully at his chin as he looked appraisingly at Diane, “This is one of those whatchamcallits…a leap of faith thing you’re talking about here, right?” 

“That’s exactly correct, Mr. Maretti,” Diane said with a false brightness as though she were encouraging a slow child, “I am talking about taking a leap of faith that this marriage will work out but not being so imprudent as to not have insurance in case they slip and fall instead.  What’s that saying?”  She thoughtfully tapped her teeth with her gold Cross pen.  It had been a law school graduation gift from her father and she reserved it for signings of only the most important documents, “Expect success but plan for failure.  Well, that is all this document is, the plan for an entirely unanticipated failure.”

Giovanni spoke grudgingly, “Well, when it’s put like that Miss. Miller, I guess we could just say that this meeting is just talking about a future that will never happen.  So, I guess in that case that there’s no harm in the kids signing it.”  He frowned, “There are some things I want to clarify though before we get to that step.  First of all, how come if neither Damian nor Laura can lay claim to each other’s assets that those waterfront properties won’t revert to Laura in case of a divorce?”  His eyes were sharp as he looked first at Diane and then at Sonny who worked hard at keeping his expression disinterested.

Diane sighed as she replied, speaking in a slow, clear voice with the vain hope that finally the blockhead would get the difference as she explained it for the third and, she was determined, final time.  “As I said previously, Mr. Maretti, those properties are excluded from Miss. Maretti’s assets because they will no longer belong to her but rather to the Corinthos-Morgan organization.  It is my understanding that you and Mr. Corinthos agreed upon those properties as being something in the nature of a dowry or maybe it would better to think of them as a non-refundable finder’s fee.  They are, so to say, a thank you from you to Mr. Corinthos for finding such a fine upstanding young man as Mr. Spinelli here to be a good husband to Laura.” 

Diane bit her lip in vexation as she caught the sheer look of loathing Laura darted toward Spinelli from beneath lashes overly laden with mascara.  The lawyer spared a quick glance at Spinelli and happily found him to be completely oblivious of the girl’s open antipathy as he was still blushing at Diane’s unexpected compliment.  Jason noticed though and his face grew even more angular as he stared in stone-faced antagonism at her.

“Yeah, okay,” Giovanni pulled the shredded cigar out of his mouth and looked at it in disgust.  He threw it carelessly on the floor where it lay for a scant few seconds before Conan was there to sweep it into a dustpan.  Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a fresh cigar and waved it at Sonny, “I guess you deserve something for setting this all up for me, Corinthos.  It better not end in divorce though,” he said as he clipped the end of the cigar which also ended up on the floor to be speedily swept up by a further scandalized Conan, “It won’t sit well with me if I have to take this one back while at the same time losing my piers and warehouses.”  He was trying to be humorous but the joke fell flat as no one laughed or even smiled.  It was now his turn to be on the receiving end of one of Laura’s patented baleful stares. 

“Excellent,” Diane felt as though she had been slogging uphill with a heavy pack in the blazing sun.  Not that she had ever done any such rash thing but she was convinced that had she ever it would have made her feel fully as wrung out and exhausted as this detested meeting was succeeding in doing.  “Now that point of contention is settled, the rest of the agreement is quite straightforward.  In case of a divorce, Laura may take away anything she brings into the marriage and she may also keep any items of clothing, or sundry gifts bestowed upon her by Mr. Spinelli.  This arrangement also extends to any pieces of jewelry which he gives her…” Diane paused and looked expectantly at Spinelli while everyone else, including Jason, looked at her in puzzlement as they wondered why she had suddenly stopped speaking. 

For a brief moment even Spinelli appeared to be unsure as to what Diane wanted him to do and then a look of realization dawned on his face.  He delved into the pocket of his lightweight jacket retrieving a small blue box which he passed diffidently across the table to Laura.  She snatched it eagerly from his hand.  Her face, for the first time since they had encountered her, was alive with interest.   A small greedy smile danced over her lips as she impatiently opened the lid of the outer box and reached insided for the smaller, midnight-blue velveteen jeweler’s box.

Before Laura opened it and saw what was inside, Spinelli spoke, almost stammering in his uncertainty, “It’s…a token of our soon to be mutually entwined future, a mark of the high esteem in which I hold my future bride.”

Entirely disregarding Spinelli’s earnest speech, Laura stared mutely down at the revealed ring.  It was a single pear cut stone, of beautiful cut and clarity, set in an asymmetrical platinum band.  It was simple and timeless and Laura clearly didn’t care for it in the least.  It was equally apparent that no one had ever schooled her in the art of concealing disappointment.  Her face, with its disdainful curl of her upper lip, plainly communicated how little she valued the engagement ring Spinelli had presented to her.

Diane was already bristling as she easily read Laura’s scorn and her hand was itching to reach over and retrieve the ring.  She and Spinelli had spent an entire afternoon shopping for a suitable ring.  He had poured over sample tray after sample tray until even Diane’s indefatigable shopping enthusiasm was beginning to flag.  Yet, when they saw this ring, it was obvious to both of them that it was the one.  After all, what woman wouldn’t be the happy recipient of such a lovely piece of jewelry picked out with such forethought and care?

“Apparently one whose taste is entirely confined to her mouth,” she muttered to herself.

A quick glance at Spinelli confirmed that he indeed had registered Laura’s poor reception of the ring, he looked crestfallen and embarrassed.  Diane didn’t dare risk looking at Jason, she just issued a silent prayer that he hadn’t come to this meeting armed. 

“Laurie, try it on,” Giovanni urged his recalcitrant daughter, not in the least understanding how she could be so hesitant to adorn herself with a piece of new jewelry.  He wondered briefly if she wasn’t feeling ill.

With a scowl, Laura picked up the ring and placed it on the ring finger of her right rather than her left hand as though she were deliberately denying its evident purpose.  “It’s too big,” she said with cruel satisfaction as she held up her finger and showed how easily she could twirl the ring around.  Laura slipped the offending object off her finger and tossed it carelessly onto the table where it clattered and spun around for a few seconds before finally coming to a rest.

The sound of the ring hitting the table was the only noise in the restaurant.  All the occupants of the booth stared down at the table, the tiny ring glittering in the dim light as it held their fascinated attention.  Only Laura was unaffected by the palpable tension.  Casually, she sat back in the booth and rummaged around in her capacious purse until she found the tube of lip gloss she was searching for.  She pursed her lips and methodically applied the orange scented substance without giving any indication that she was aware of being the cynosure of all eyes. 

Even Sonny appeared shocked at Laura’s cavalier treatment of the engagement ring.  “You shouldn’t be so quick to toss that.” He said his tone mildly censuring which earned him a partisan glare from Giovanni who, while he regularly scolded his recalcitrant daughter, didn’t extend the privilege to anyone else.  Unaffected by Giovanni’s territorial reaction, Sonny reached out a casual hand and, picking up the ring, examined it with a knowledgeable eye under the dim restaurant light.  “It’s a good stone and a very classic setting.  It’s the ideal choice for a match which will transcend time,” he sent a crooked grin Laura’s way, his dimples flashing, “Not that I know about marriages which last you understand, but engagement rings, those I’m an expert on and this is a quality choice.  All you need to do is get it resized.” He extended the ring toward Laura who stared defiantly at him and refused to take it.

It was Spinelli’s hand which instead stretched out to retrieve the rejected ring from Sonny who gave it to him with an expression which on another man might have been classified as sympathy.  “The Jackal was foolish in the extreme,” his voice was soft and hesitant. “It was indeed arrogant of him to shop for this emblem of our life together with the distaff half of the coupling missing.  After all,” he sent a wry smile at Laura who was staring at him with both exasperation and incredulity as he spoke, “You are the one who will be wearing the ring until the dissolution of our union, however and whenever that may come about.” 

Diane pricked her ears up at this first chink in the heretofore unassailable armor of Spinelli’s certainty that this marriage would be it for him.  ‘He didn’t say _until death do us part_ ,’ she thought to herself smugly.  It couldn’t have been an oversight either.  Diane would believe that of anyone else but not Spinelli who carefully chose each syllable which dropped from his lips.  

Giovanni stiffened, he too had caught the nuance in Spinelli’s speech, as he said repressively, “That union better only be dissolved because of you dying there, Spinelli.” 

Instinctively, Diane reached over and grabbed for Jason pulling hard on his arm as he started to lunge over the table toward Giovanni. “Jason,” she gasped, “It’s neither the time nor the place.”  Her words fell on deaf ears, Jason was intent on one thing only, showing Giovanni exactly who was likely to die that day and it wasn’t going to be his roommate.

“Jason!”  The only reason Sonny’s imperious shout worked where Diane’s physical restraint hadn’t was because of Jason’s years of obedience in responding to Sonny’s commands, “Stop it!  Giovanni didn’t mean anything by it, right?”  He turned toward Giovanni, his eyes glinting dangerously as Jason stood between the booth bench and the table glaring at the man who he perceived as being a threat to his protégé.  “Well,” Sonny prompted impatiently, rolling his shoulders in a characteristic demonstration of ill restrained power, “Did you intend anything by saying that, Giovanni?”

“No,” Giovanni responded sullenly, his face carefully composed into a mask of indifference but his eyes were hooded and his hands clenched.  It was clear he felt humiliated but also was shrewd enough to recognize that he lacked the power in this particular confrontation.  “I didn’t mean any disrespect to Spinelli.  I just wanted to be sure that we were all on the same page about the sanctity of marriage.”

“The Jackal’s esteemed future father-in–law may rest assured that the Jackal meant no disrespect with his poor choice of words,” Spinelli’s quiet voice cut across the tense silence which had settled over the group at the table when Giovanni finished speaking.  “He fully intends to honor his commitment to the fair daughter of the house of Maretti.”

Giovanni nodded in acknowledgment of Spinelli’s placatory speech but he didn’t say anything.  After Jason sat down, his body rigid with anger, the older man risked sending a look of pure malevolence toward the younger man which far outweighed any equivalent expression seen on his daughter’s face.  Only Diane and Spinelli caught his vitriolic glare.  The hacker blushed and averted his eyes while Diane stared back, her face set in a matching look of ill will.  She was determined at the earliest moment possible to have a conversation with Jason about protecting Spinelli from Giovanni’s wrath.  Nobody was going to hurt a hair on Mr. Grasshopper’s head while Diane Miller was around.

“Ahem,” the throat clearing interjection came from the cadaverous appearing Maretti lawyer.  It was the first sound out of him since his introduction at the beginning of the meeting.  “While all this folderol about rings and marriage vows is very touching, I am sure,” he began, his voice drily pedantic, “There are more pressing matters before us.  What precisely is this?”  He drew a legal document out of the pile of papers sitting before him and placed it with a flourish before Diane.

Diane picked up the sheaf of stapled papers and barely glanced at it before dropping it back down on the table.  “It’s a deed,” she said with condescending sweetness, her red lips curving upwards in a shark-like grin, “You know that piece of paper homeowners receive when they purchase a piece of property or a house, Mister…uh what exactly was your name again?”  She stared challenging at him, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in inquiry. 

“Alderson, and I know what a deed is,” the lawyer was flushing at Diane’s intentional jibe at his professionalism. “That wasn’t what I was asking.  I wanted to know why it was included in the papers concerning the prenuptial agreement.  It appears the only name on the deed is Mr. Spinelli’s.”  He sent his own glance of disapproval in the putative bridegroom’s direction. 

“That would be correct,” Diane said with smooth approbation, “How clever of you to catch that Mr. Alderson.  This,” she tapped the deed with her index finger, the blood red color of her nail polish flaring dully in the subdued light, “Is the deed to the penthouse across the hall from Mr. Morgan’s.  It is to be the residence of the newlyweds.   Mr. Morgan gifted the property to Mr. Spinelli.”

“What?” The astounded syllable came simultaneously from Giovanni, Laura and Spinelli.

“Daddy,” it was a high pitched wail of anguish, “I’m not going to live in this hick town and you can’t make me!”

“Wait a minute here,” Giovanni turned belligerently toward Sonny, “I never agreed to this.  I was going to buy the kids a townhouse somewhere close by me.”  The unspoken implication was that proximity would enable him to keep an eye on the young married couple.

“Stone Cold,” Spinelli was looking across Diane at Jason, his eyes bright with emotion, “It’s too much, while I appreciate the gesture more than I can say, I simply cannot accept such an enormous gift.”

“Enough!” Sonny bellowed across the babble of voices, “Jason what the hell is all this?”

Jason shrugged, “I gave the penthouse to Spinelli.  It has nothing to do with the marriage.  It’s his free and clear and, as long as he wants her to, Laura can live there also but she has no rights to it.”

“They’re going to live in New York,” Giovanni was adamant.

“No, they’re not,” Jason responded stubbornly. 

There was no way he was going to let Spinelli get sucked into Maretti’s unfriendly and potentially dangerous orbit.  It was bad enough he had to concede the marriage itself, nothing else of his was going to be forfeited. 

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Diane strove to lay the proverbial oils on these most disturbed waters, “It is meet that the Spinellis,” she intentionally used the couple’s new designation to underscore the fact of the wedded condition, “Reside in Port Charles. After all, Mr. Maretti,” she gave the man a small conspiratorial smile, “You strike me as a man of a traditional bent.  As such it’s usual for the wife to live where the husband works and resides rather than the other way around.  Beside which,” she sent her gimlet gaze toward Laura who was slumped miserably down in the booth, every line of her body proclaiming her sullen ennui with the proceedings, “It’s not as though Ms. Maretti works herself.”  Then she leaned across the table and speaking in a low clear voice said, “I would think a change of venue might do wondrous things for the young lady’s outlook on life.  Perhaps she will undertake a life of charitable endeavors or pursue courses at Port Charles University.”

“In your dreams,” Laura snarled as she suddenly realized what Diane was suggesting about radically changing her lifestyle. 

Giovanni stared in bemusement at Diane, his features still set in a truculent scowl as he slowly worked his way through Diane’s argument and Laura’s half furious, half panicked response.  “You mean,” it was clear the concept was still forming in his mind, “That if Laurie lived up here with…him,” Jason stiffened at implied insult to Spinelli as the older man either couldn’t be bothered to remember his new son-in-law’s name or didn’t think it necessary to use it.  Diane kicked him under the table, she didn’t want Jason’s unbridled aggression derailing her subtle plan.  Jason subsided with a low growl of irritation, his reflexive anger going unnoticed by a contemplative Giovanni.  Suddenly he was beaming as he looked at Diane with something approaching awe.  “That’s a terrific idea,” he said in wholehearted agreement, his displeasure of a moment ago entirely forgotten.  “You’ll see, Laurie,” he said turning to his daughter who was staring aghast at her father, “It’ll do you good to move someplace new, meet new people, and do new things.”  It was obvious that the operative selling word was new.

“Daddy!”  It was a wail of despair, “I don’t want to live somewhere new.” 

Her blue eyes welled with tears that brimmed over her lower lids and spilled down her cheeks leaving black streaks of mascara in their wake.  It was clear the girl was in genuine distress.  For the first time since the meeting began and Diane met the little hussy, she felt some stirrings of compassion as she looked at the young woman who had eyes for no one but her father as she vehemently protested her fate.

“You can’t do this to me, you just can’t.  It’s bad enough you’re making me marry him and live with him when it’s the last thing I want to do.”  Her words were blunt and unmistakable in their meaning.  Diane’s burgeoning empathy immediately turned to implacable hate when she turned to Spinelli and saw the look of abject wretchedness on his face as he absorbed Laura’s cruel words.  “You can’t make me live up here in the middle of nowhere.  I don’t know anyone, I’ll be away from you and Carmine and Paolo.” 

“If the concept of marriage to the Jackal,” Spinelli had reverted to the safety of the third person in his reaction to what Laura had said about him, “Is so distasteful to Miss. Maretti,” there was no nickname, no beauteous blonde one or Aphrodite of his heart designation, just the formal appellation of her name.  Somehow that intentional slight, though no one who didn’t know Spinelli would interpret it as such, made Diane feel better.  Maybe it wasn’t too late after all, maybe they could salvage Mr. Grasshopper from this mess without the prequel of a miserable marriage having to occur before the blessed release of the inevitably messy divorce, for that was the path both Jason and Diane foresaw as the outcome of this ill advised match and as such the reason for this prenuptial agreement.  “Then perhaps the best solution for the parties involved is to dissolve all plans for a martial bond.  I would not wish to be the source of such unhappiness for one so young and lovely.”  His voice was soft, the hurt underlying each syllable clearly audible to both Jason and Diane. 

“Maybe that’s a good idea,” Diane said briskly as she reached over and wrapped her hand around Spinelli’s, giving it a brief squeeze to show her support of his needs in this trying time.  “They’re both young yet and perhaps Miss. Maretti still has things she feels she needs to accomplish before settling down as a wife and mother.” 

Later that night Diane would sit on her overstuffed sofa, drinking a glass of Merlot and rubbing her sore feet as she mentally replayed the afternoon over in her mind.  She would determine that this was the pivotal moment which, if only handled differently, could have ensured Spinelli’s freedom.  Yet, because of her interference, her stupid speech about Laura not being ready for marriage, she had turned the tide.  Up until then it was obvious that Giovanni was having second thoughts as he listened to his daughter’s impassioned plea to not be married off or at least sent away from her home and everyone that was familiar to her.

“Here’s to me and my big mouth,” Diane said to herself.  Her face was grim as she held the glass up to the empty room in an ironic salute and then took a very large swallow.  If this wasn’t an ideal reason to get drunk, she didn’t know what was. 

Giovanni stared at Diane, his expression dazed, he shook his head in sharp negation of her speech.  “No, this one,” he pointed his thumb at Laura, “Has lacked a mother’s touch and in her absence I spoiled her.  She’s had too much freedom and it hasn’t made her or me or her brothers happy.  It’s time to try something new and the responsibility of marriage and a home to run and, God willing, children, will make her grow up.”  He looked at his crying daughter, his eyes sad but his expression resolute, “I’m sorry honey, but this is for your own good, someday you’ll see that, maybe even thank me.”

Giovanni’s paternal speech marked the defacto end of the meeting.  A very satisfied Giovanni and Sonny shook hands while a subdued Spinelli and a sulking Laura stood in mutual silence, neither one acknowledging the other. 

Just as Giovanni was leading his small entourage of Laura and Mr. Alderson toward the door, Spinelli called out, “Wait, the ring…”  He held out the rejected blue velvet box as a tentative peace offering toward Laura. 

She didn’t even bother with a verbal response but just shrugged and turned back toward the door.  It was actually Giovanni who paused but it wasn’t to retrieve the ring Spinelli was still holding out upon his extended palm.  Instead, he looked at Diane with a speculative gleam visible in his eye even from where he stood several feet away.

“Miss. Miller,” he said, sounding almost hesitant, “You are an amazingly gifted attorney,” he stopped for a minute as though thinking how best to proceed after offering a compliment that was nothing more than the simple truth. “How about you come and work for me among the bright lights of New York City and get out of Hicksville, U.S.A.  I guarantee that I would pay you more than you’re earning now,” again he paused and then added with an air of heavy flirtatiousness, “Maybe you and me could explore ourselves some attorney-client privilege.”  Maretti had stated what he wanted and now he was just standing beside the bar awaiting Diane’s verdict about his idea, his expression half hopeful and half fearful. 

Sonny let out an involuntary guffaw of laughter which he immediately quelled after taking one look at Diane’s icy countenance.  “Mr. Maretti,” Diane replied haughtily, “I am already more than gainfully employed in the safeguarding of the Corinthos-Morgan legal interests.  Believe you me, I make sure on a daily basis that I am paid exactly what I am worth.  In addition, I never, but never,” she emphasized without feeling the smallest iota of guilt as she entirely disregarded her relationship with Max or her maternal feelings for Spinelli, “Mix up my personal and professional lives.  So, under these circumstances, I am afraid I will have to regretfully decline your most munificent and eloquently worded proposal sad though it may be that we shan’t have the opportunity to ‘explore ourselves some attorney-client privilege.’” 

Her spot on mimicry of Maretti’s less than polished proposal caused an unexpected smile to bloom across Jason’s face as he enjoyed the discomfiture of the other mob boss.  It took a moment for Giovanni to interpret Diane’s reply as a clear cut refusal of his offer.  When he finally understood he had been summarily rejected and even mildly mocked in the process, he flushed with embarrassment. 

“Um, yeah, sure, well, if you ever change your mind and want more excitement than these yahoos can offer be sure to give me a call…” He turned away and gave the unoffending Alderson a vicious shove, “Get out of my way!”  He hissed as the lawyer stumbled out of the angry man’s path. 

The group left behind in the restaurant could hear Laura’s shrill voice challenging her father as they exited onto the street, “I see how it is.  When you have the hots for that dyed, red-haired hussy then this place is Hicksville but when you want me to move up here and die of sheer boredom it’s some sort of experiment in self-improvement.  Well, I won’t do it, Daddy.  You hear me, I won’t!”

“Laurie…” Giovanni’s weary voice drifted back as he tried to reason with his semi-hysterical daughter.

“Dyed!”  Diane spat in high umbrage, “That little bleached blonde brat is one to talk!”

“Sure you don’t want to take Giovanni up on his generous offer. Diane?” Sonny couldn’t resist teasing her, “You could trade us and Max in for all that glamour and the chance to get to know him better.”

“I am billing you triple for this delightful experience, Sonny” Diane replied furiously in response to his unwise taunt and entirely forgetting that Jason was footing the bill for this afternoon’s proceedings, “Oh, that odious man!  One more word out of his smarmy mouth and I was going to…to…” and she raised her foot and kicked at the empty space in front of her with one excessively high heel.  The effect of shifting all her weight onto the one remaining, but all too insubstantial, stiletto caused her to lose her balance.  She would have fallen if Jason hadn’t reached out and steadied her. 

“Whoa there Diane,” his voice was amused, “He’s not worth breaking a bone over.”

“You are so very right,” she responded, her mouth set in a grim line as she regained her footing. “Here,” with the rapidity of a striking snake she turned toward an unaware Spinelli who was still forlornly clutching the rejected engagement ring. “Give me that,” she snatched it from his unresisting grasp, “I’ll get her exactly the kind of ring that little tramp wants.  In the meantime, you, Mr. Grasshopper, will receive a refund that can go toward a nice little electronic treat for yourself.”

“Really?” Spinelli queried doubtfully, “Perhaps instead the brusque lady of justice would prefer to keep the ring as she demonstrated an affinity for it at the time of purchase.”

Diane popped the top of the small box and looked thoughtfully down at the ring sparkling from within its nest of light blue satin.  With a regretful sigh, she shook her head.  “Many thanks for the offer, Mr. Grasshopper but I think this ring should be returned to the jewelers and purchased by some young couple who truly admire its intrinsic beauty and simplicity as you did.”  She smiled warmly at him, “It would feel peculiar wearing a ring, lovely as it is, that was meant for an occasion which it seems unlikely will ever occur in my life.” Diane’s voice was melancholy as she snapped the lid of the ring box shut.

“Yet surely the protector of the night might someday…” Spinelli offered uncertainly.

Diane shrugged, “Who knows?” She said philosophically, “And even if Max did ask me, I’m not sure I’d accept.  I’m getting to be too old and set in my ways to compromise for the sake of a man, no matter how flexible or inventive in bed he might be.” 

“Diane,” Sonny protested, “I don’t pay your exorbitant salary so I have to be subjected to tales of what you and Max get up to in your free time.  You know I don’t even like the fact of the two of you being involved in the first place.”

“Well, Sonny,” Diane was back in full combat mode, her eyes flashing dangerously as she moved into his personal space.  Sonny was trapped against the bar and she took full advantage of the fact by jabbing him in the chest with one well manicured finger.  “It seems that your enforcement of that policy of not mixing business and pleasure could be considered patchy at best considering the deal you just arranged for this poor boy.”  She jerked her head over her right shoulder to indicate Spinelli who was standing behind her and looking unhappily flustered at being dragged into their confrontation.  “It’s a travesty, that’s what it is, you are sacrificing Spinelli upon the altar of greed and I for one am calling you on it.”

Regaining his composure, Sonny pushed his way past Diane. Once he was out in the center of the restaurant, he flexed his shoulders and adjusted his suit jacket as he indicated that he was indifferent to her charges of manipulation.  “Hey,” he said, mildly, “Nobody forced Spinelli here to agree to this engagement, isn’t that right kid?” Sonny looked inquiringly at Spinelli who just nodded mutely while Jason moved to stand next to him in a show of support.  His face was set in unreadable planes but his eyes flashed resentfully at his partner. 

“Yes, I know,” Diane said cynically as she stared at Sonny with patent dislike, “It was all just presented as a case of unspoken blackmail by making it incumbent upon Mr. Grasshopper to feel as though the engagement would provide security and financial well being for all the people he cares about.  You knew he wouldn’t…no, _couldn’t_ refuse such an offer.”  She shook her head in disgust while Sonny just shrugged and grinned unrepentantly at her but his dimples had never possessed any power over the attorney. 

Spinelli stepped forward, his eyes distressed, “Miss. Miller,” he said softly, dispensing with the usual nickname he applied to her, “You mustn’t worry on my account.  I know what I am doing. I am entering the situation with my eyes fully open to all eventualities including the potential outcome that the marriage may not, in the end, prove successful.”

Diane saw the look of distress which crossed Jason’s face as Spinelli spoke and the calculating expression on Sonny’s face as he stared at Spinelli’s back, his eyes narrowed in speculation.  She smiled at the hacker, a gentle smile that no one else, not even Max, ever managed to elicit from the hard as nails lawyer. 

Reaching over she patted his cheek, “You might as well tell the rain not to fall or the birds not to migrate,” she whispered, “I reserve the right to worry about you whenever and wherever I want to.”  Then she pulled her hand away and suddenly reverted to being Diane Miller, famous litigator and all around hard case.  “Anyway, gentleman,” she said briskly as she gathered up her briefcase and her lightweight, spring coat, “It’s time for me to head home.  I need my beauty sleep if I am going out tomorrow in order to find the perfect ring for that…” she recalled herself just in time as she caught the pained look in Spinelli’s eyes, “For Ms. Maretti.  I guarantee you that she will love, simply love the replacement ring.”  With a brief predatory flash of teeth that might have been her idea of a reassuring smile, she exited the restaurant. 

Ten days later, Jason was able to ratify in person that Diane had absolutely kept her promise.  The first thing he noticed when he saw Laura waiting for him outside the Manhattan café they had agreed to meet at for lunch was the way her left ring finger sparkled and blazed under the intensity of the noonday sun.

 


	8. A Luncheon Date in the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladies who lunch and one unhappy mob enforcer.

Chapter 8: A Luncheon Date in the City

“That the new ring?” Jason asked Laura blandly, his face unreadable. 

“Sure is,” Laura extended her hand as though she expected Jason to hold it in order to examine the ring more closely. When she realized that wasn’t going to happen, she scowled and reaching over with her right hand twisted the ring around, smiling happily as it flared in response to the movement. “Isn’t it absolutely gorgeous?” She gushed, her obvious joy in her new possession making her look younger and more vulnerable for a brief moment. “All the girls have been _so_ jealous and I know it must have cost a bundle, huh?” She gazed inquiringly at Jason who just stared expressionlessly back at her.

“It’s big,” was his only comment. 

The new ring was the antithesis of the innate sophistication and delicacy of the original one. This ring was large and gaudy. It was encrusted with diamonds but Jason wondered if that was really what they were. True to her word, Diane showed up at the penthouse and gave a substantial cash refund to Spinelli who stared at her in bewilderment. She refused to show him the replacement ring saying he would be sure to see it next time he and his fiancée met. Jason now clearly comprehended why Diane wanted to delay that occasion as long as possible. He could already see the consternation on his roommate’s open countenance when he would finally catch sight of this monstrosity which was an insult to good taste. Jason thought it was quite possible that Diane had purchased this ring in some cut rate jewelry store which featured zirconium as a replacement for diamonds. It would be her subtle way of getting revenge for this girl’s unforgivably slighting treatment of Spinelli and a small mean part of Jason enjoyed being in on the trick. 

“Oh, you ride a motorcycle!” Laura looked over Jason’s shoulder at his bike pulled up against the curb, “Maybe after lunch you could take me on a ride to somewhere private,” she said suggestively as she bumped his jean covered hip with her white clad one. Even Jason, perennially indifferent to fashion trends, had begun to notice the fact that she didn’t appear to wear any other color.

“No,” he said flatly, not even bothering to embellish his refusal. 

“Oh, c’mon,” she wheedled, staring beguiling up at him while she flirtatiously blinked her thick and surrealistically long lashes which were overly lacquered with sticky mascara.

“Got something in your eye?” Jason asked indifferently as he reached over and firmly plucked her grasping hand off of his leather jacketed forearm. 

Laura stared at him without comprehension, “No,” she responded in a puzzled voice. Then as though she suddenly understood something, she smiled coquettishly and said, “Oh, I get it! You’re scared Daddy will hear if we get up to something.” Before Jason could correct her misapprehension, Laura turned around and spoke imperiously to a large, beefy man, dressed in jeans and a windbreaker, who was standing several feet away from them on the sidewalk. Yo, Dino,” she called out to him, “You can go. Mr. Morgan here will see me safely home on his bike.” 

“Don’t go anywhere, Dino,” Jason immediately countermanded Laura’s order. “We’ll be out in under an hour and then you will accompany Miss. Maretti to her father’s house.” 

Indignantly, Laura protested, “He’s _my_ guard, you can’t tell him what to do.” She turned back to the uncomfortable Dino and said in a voice that vibrated with steel undertones, “You’re dismissed.”

“Dino,” Jason countered evenly, “If you’re not out here ready to escort Miss. Maretti when she’s ready to go, your boss will hear about it.”

Dino nodded and glanced away, he was unwilling to meet Laura’s furious gaze, “I’ll be here waiting for Laura, I mean Miss. Maretti,” he promised.

“Let’s go eat,” Jason said, taking Laura by her right arm, gripping it just above the elbow as he forced her to turn back toward the restaurant. 

Vainly, Laura tried to shake his hand off but he was holding her in a grip which was strong enough that she thought it might produce bruising. Laura’s lips curved up in a cruel smile as she shot a quick malevolent glance at Jason’s face. She could envision her father’s rage when she went to him crying, her sleeve torn and the nasty purple bruise clearly evident on her white skin. She would tell him how Jason Morgan, that brute of a man, had arranged for a lunch date and then taken her out through the back of the restaurant and tried to have his way with her in a filthy alley. Dino wouldn’t say anything to contradict her story, he couldn’t afford to because she could actually _prove_ what Jason had done to her. 

Suddenly a chill ran down Laura’s spine as she once again looked up at Jason’s face. This time he was staring directly back at her, his ice cold eyes seeming to bore directly into her mind, and she wondered how anyone could manage to keep a secret from that penetrating gaze. The smallest flicker of a smile crossed Jason’s lips as he accurately registered the fear in her eyes and then he was politely holding the door open as he waited for her to precede him into the restaurant. 

‘I’ll have years and years to pay him back,’ Laura thought viciously as she outwardly smiled coyly at the man whom she blamed more than her father, more than Sonny Corinthos, and certainly more than that spineless drip of a fiance, for the insufferable living nightmare within which she found herself immersed. Still, Laura was a pragmatist. She had needed to be in order to survive all these years residing in the dark, fetid world in which her father had raised her. She knew how to bide her time and if today’s plan wasn’t feasible another one would come along and then she would strike out in all her pent up fury and destroy Jason Morgan. Eventually, she would wreck them all and be the only one left standing, her and Paolo. 

Yet, for now, she walked beside Jason, her small hand tucked confidingly in the crook of his arm. Ignoring both the taut muscles of his arm as an indicator of his dislike of her touch and the rapid way he walked, uncaring if she could keep up, she looked autocratically around as they entered the restaurant. This place was Laura’s kingdom, here she was the queen bee and all the others eating and working in the cafe were simply worker bees and drones there to do her domineering bidding. Laura scurried to match Jason’s long strides as they were led to her usual private nook deep in the heart of the restaurant. Still, even passing through at such an unusually rapid pace, she managed to nod genially at various tables and call out greetings as they breezed by.

“Gina, you look like you’ve lost weight!”

“Lydia, what a gorgeous shirt you’re wearing!”

“Francesca, I love what you’ve done with your hair.”

Eyes widened in amazement as the pair walked by and narrowed in envy as they passed by table after table, the two of them on display for the entire clientele to witness. It had been a long time since Laura was able to publicly display a man of hers and what was there to quibble about if Jason didn’t precisely occupy that particular role anyway. Give her enough time and he would be captivated by her. Give her enough time and he would be begging to spend all his free hours with her and then she would be the one to spurn him. Yes, she realized as a warm glow of contentment flooded through her, causing her cheeks to color slightly and creating a striking contrast against her usual ivory pallor, that would indeed be a supremely satisfying revenge plan. She knew men inside and out and the ones like Jason were defined only by one thing, their pride. Take that away from them and they might as well be dead, would actually prefer death to living without it. 

So mollified was Laura by her successful procession through the restaurant past ranks of her dearest friends and enemies, all one and the same to her indiscriminate eye, that her mood was restored to its previous sunny parameters. Their unparalleled envious reception of her walking in on Jason’s arm was every bit as gratifying as when she had previously envisioned the inhaled breath of each of those same women as she showed off the magnificent engagement ring. Yet, Laura was unexpectedly discovering that showing off a magnificent new man was a far more worthy social enterprise than merely demonstrating a new piece of jewelry, particularly when she contemplated the dweeb who had bestowed said jewelry upon her unwilling finger. 

“Thank you, Tommy,” she beamed at the young waiter who was holding out her chair for her to sit upon, “How are you?” She peeked at Jason but he wasn’t evincing the slightest interest in her familiar exchange with the waiter. 

“Fine, Miss. Laura and yourself?” He responded with scrupulous politeness as he carefully placed her napkin on her lap where it immediately blended in with her outfit.

“Can’t you tell?” She said with a bubbly giggle as she nodded toward Jason who snorted in exasperation at her transparent attempt to make it appear as though they were a dating couple, “I’m doing great, Tommy, just great.”

“That’s wonderful to hear, Miss. Can I get you something to drink?” He was reverting to his professional role and his expression was almost a match to Jason’s in its inscrutability. 

“A White Russian,” Laura snapped, her good humor evaporating almost as soon as it had reappeared. She must be off her game today if she couldn’t even get a waiter to flirt with her. 

Jason replied to Tommy’s inquisitive tilt of his head with a brusque, “Beer, Grolsch if you’ve got it.”

Tommy nodded, “We do, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

Jason was curious and since it was rare enough that he even felt the sensation, he also discovered that he couldn’t deny indulging it. “So, does it extend to what you eat too?”

Laura looked up from idly studying her nails as she determined if it was time for another manicure. “Does what extend to what I eat?” She answered vaguely until the realization of what he’d asked her penetrated her brain, “I’m not one of those bulimic girls if that’s what you’re implying.” Now she was sitting up straight in her chair as indignation overtook her, “My figure is just naturally this way,” she said gesturing at herself and neglecting to mention her breasts as they protruded outward in stark undeniable contradiction to her assertive contention, “I can eat whatever I want and not put on an ounce.” 

Jason was shaking his head impatiently, he almost chose not to pursue the topic but something within him refused to let it go, “No, that’s not what I meant. I was just wondering, does everything you eat also have to be white?” 

Laura frowned at him, she had no idea what he was talking about, “Eat only white food?” She echoed incredulously, “What kind of a crazy thing would that be to do? Anyway,” now the concept had been broached she appeared to be oddly intrigued by it, “There isn’t that much white food is there? Let’s see, rice, mashed potatoes, tapioca…”

Jason sat hunched over the table, his elbows perched on the edge as he wearily ran his hands over his face,“You just had to ask didn’t you?” He berated himself in an undertone as the litany across the table droned on uninterrupted.

“Your beer, sir.” The frosty green bottle was placed in front of him with an equally frosty mug to keep it company. 

Jason grabbed for the bottle, entirely foregoing the glass on offer, and rapidly swigged down several mouthfuls. With a sigh of contentment he placed the bottle back on the table and looked over at Tommy who was staring back at him with a shadow of a grin on his face while Laura glared across the table at Jason obviously displeased with his boorish behavior.

Tommy placed Laura’s White Russian before her and stepping back, diplomatically addressed the air between the two of them, “Have you decided what you want to order?”

“A cheeseburger, medium rare, hold the onions,” Jason said, handing the unopened menu back to the waiter. 

“And for you, Miss?” Tommy turned his attention to Laura.

Laura tapped her index finger against her bottom lip as she stared reflectively at Jason, “What do you have that’s white?” She inquired of Tommy without bothering to look at him.

Jason choked on the mouthful of beer he was swallowing, he spewed some of it on the table and the rest went down his trachea instead of his esophagus. He was coughing so hard that he momentarily lost awareness of his surroundings.

“Sir, sir are you all right?” Dimly Jason was aware that someone was pounding timidly on his back.

With a final hacking cough, he managed to sit upright and wave Tommy’s anxious ministrations away, “I’m…fine,” he croaked, reaching for the glass of water rather than the traitorous beer which had started it all.

Laura appeared entirely unperturbed by Jason’s distress. She quirked her eyebrow at Tommy while tapping her fingernails impatiently on her menu, “Well?” She asked him, pulling his concentration away from Jason and back to her. 

“Uh, well what?” Tommy asked her, his usual composure disrupted by the mini-drama of a customer almost choking to death. 

“The food, what do you have in white today?” Laura gazed directly at him, it was clear that she was wholly serious in her inquiry.

Jason decided to intervene because one quick glance at Tommy’s face told him that the waiter was utterly befuddled by the meaning of her question. “Miss. Maretti wishes to know what dishes on the menu contain white food.” 

His voice was still somewhat raspy as he translated Laura’s odd request smoothly, years of experience of doing the exact same duty for Spinelli standing him in good stead. Jason leaned back in his chair and once more reached for his beer, taking only a small sip as he prepared to enjoy himself.

Tommy stared in disbelief at Jason, his expression plainly asking if he were serious but Jason just tilted his chin toward Laura as he took another swallow of beer. Tommy turned back to Laura and paused for a moment before trusting himself to speak. “White food, Miss. Laura, do you mean by that dishes such as vanilla ice cream and vichyossie?”

"What's vichyssoise?" Laura asked as she stumbled over the pronunciation of the unfamiliar word.

"It's a cold potato and leek soup," Tommy explained patiently as he mentally tagged this conversation as a definite entry in his 'Waiting Patiently', the memoir that he was sure would become a best seller once he actually got around to writing it.

"Ew!" Laura scrunched her nose up in disgust as she rejected the idea of eating such a disgusting concoction out of hand, even if it happened to fit the designated requirement of being a white food, "What else is there?" She asked stubbornly.  

Jason had to admit once this girl got an idea in her head she pursued it with gusto.  'It's probably because she only has a few of them in there to begin with,' he thought uncharitably.  After meeting Laura, he acknowledged that he needed to revise his opinion of Maxie's intellect; she looked like a Rhode's Scholar next to this girl.  Yet, in Jason's fiercely partisan opinion, neither one of them was even close to an acceptable intellectual match for Spinelli.  

"How about Fettuccine Alfredo," the waiter offered, his voice was a study in neutrality but Jason noticed that Tommy's jaw was clenched with an occasional muscle twitch to underline his mounting aggravation with this all too specious conversation, "That's a very popular dish with our patrons who aren't on a diet and it certainly meets the white criteria."

"Oh, yes!"  Laura beamed her approbation at him for making such an ideal suggestion, "I love Fettuccine Alfredo and I am certainly not on a diet," she preened, "Anyway, I'm sure Jason and I could come up with something to do after lunch which would burn off the extra calories."   She sent a suggestive glance toward Jason which he actively ignored. 

Tommy appeared not to notice the obvious subtext to Laura's comments or Jason's equally apparent disinterest in her.  "Very well, that’s one cheeseburger, medium-rare, no onion and an order of Fettucine Alfredo.  Is there anything else you'd like, perhaps a salad to start with?"

Laura creased her brow as she peered up at him, "Are there any white salads available?"

Tommy actually thought about the ridiculous request for a moment as his mind ranged over the possible ingredients to be included in such an outlandish dish.  Salad dressing wasn't a problem since they could use ranch or bleu cheese and he supposed there was white asparagus and maybe peeled radishes and...

Jason saved him from going insane through contemplating any more permutations of white food by sharply saying, "No, there aren't.  Could I have another beer please?"  

He held out the empty bottle for Tommy to take and mentally cursed Laura for having the ability to make him feel the need for another beer.  He knew he could handle the alcohol that wasn't the issue but he didn't like the concept of another person's behavior being the cause for him wanting to have an additional drink.  It deprived him of his most precious character trait-control over his actions and thereby his environment. 

Jason wanted to get the purpose of this meeting over with.  He was grateful for the fact that Laura's 'usual' table was tucked back in the restaurant behind a dividing half wall and further shielded from view by an assortment of luxuriant house plants.  He knew full well that the separation from the larger dining area wasn't purely a mark of her father's influence or her need for privacy from the gaze of those less fortunate, but more importantly a place where she could conduct her assignations under some pretense of anonymity.  

Jason waited with ill concealed impatience for the arrival of the food.  He couldn't broach the subject of the meeting until he was fairly sure they could talk without being interrupted for a while.  If it had been anyone else but Laura, Jason would have been surprised that she didn't appear to have the slightest inquisitiveness as to why he had suggested this rendezvous.  Predicated upon her words to Tommy, he surmised that she was still under the delusion that he was here to seduce her.  Her ego seemed unaffected by his earlier rejection and it would appear she had ample experience in expecting a meal to be the foreplay in a meeting which inevitably culminated in sex.  

He rubbed his fingers over his right temple in a vain attempt to assuage the pounding sensation which had started shortly after greeting Laura outside the restaurant.  Jason was beginning to wonder how he was going to survive simply residing across the hall from this termagant.  He didn't even want to imagine what it would be like for poor Spinelli actually having to endure living with her.  

Laura didn't appear in the least to mind her lunch companion's dour silence.  She chattered on about topics which were of no interest to him  Unlike most people who would at least pretend to be listening, Jason didn't make false interjections of 'oh, really,' or 'do go on,' to hold up his end of the conversation.  If she wanted to talk she could but that didn't mean he had to respond or even listen to her.

Finally, Tommy appeared with another waiter who was actually carrying the tray containing their lunches.  He supervised the careful placement of the plates before asking, "Will there be anything else."

Both Laura and Jason shook their heads and he left them in peace to eat.  The best thing about having food on the table was that Laura finally was quiet.  She hadn't lied about liking to eat and not worrying about caloric content.  He watched in wide-eyed disbelief as she practically inhaled the pasta immersed as it was in a cream and butter based sauce with a generous coating of Parmesan cheese on the surface.  

Jason stared in amazement at Laura's speedily emptied plate, then with a shake of his head he refocused on the reason why he was here, "Okay," he started without preamble, "I wanted to meet with you in private to explain to you the ground rules regarding your relationship with Spinelli."

"Spinelli!" Laura said, her good mood evaporating as she immediately turned antagonistic, "I don't want to spend our time together talking about that jerk, it's bad enough, Daddy's making me marry him!"  

Jason's eyes narrowed and he spoke with ill-concealed contempt, "Laura, I wouldn't be here having lunch with you if it weren't for the fact that you and Spinelli are getting married.  There is no us spending time together.  I needed to talk to you about my expectations for your behavior when you move to Port Charles."

"My behavior," Laura's voice was raising as she spoke, "Who are you to talk about _my_ behavior, you kill people for a living!"

Jason winced as Laura practically shouted out the last several words, "Shut up!" He hissed, furious with himself for agreeing with Sam that having such a sensitive meeting at a neutral location was a wise idea.  

Laura possessed no self control and she didn't care if she threw a tantrum in public but Jason did.  He reached across the table and grabbed her wrist and twisted it until Laura's face contorted in pain and spontaneous tears formed in her eyes.

"You're hurting me!” She squeaked piteously.

"Then keep your voice down if you don't want a repeat experience." Jason warned her roughly.

Jason released her and sat back in his chair glowering at Laure while she rubbed her reddened wrist. The imprint of Jason’s fingers was clearly marked on her delicate skin but this time her frightened mind had no interest in using the injury as a way to incense her father.  She instinctively realized that it wouldn’t be Jason who would come out the loser in a confrontation between the two men. She might be a lot of things but Laura still wasn’t depraved enough to wish to be indirectly responsible for the heinous crime of patricide. 

 "Is there a problem?" Tommy's voice, courteous and guarded interrupted their staring contest.

"No, no problem at all,” Jason responded calmly.

“Miss. Laura,” Tommy turned toward her with something like concern showing on his usually blank face, “Are you all right?” He looked pointedly down at the discolored flesh of her wrist as he waited for her answer.

Laura blinked back her tears and shaking her head said in a subdued voice, “I’m fine Tommy, really.” She tilted her head and stared up at him sending the waiter a look that Jason couldn’t quite interpret.

“Would you like some dessert, perhaps some vanilla ice cream with marshmallow sauce?” He asked her gently, there was a slight teasing tone to his voice as he added, “All white, guaranteed.”

Laura summoned up a wan smile, “That sounds yummy but maybe some other time. Mr. Morgan and I have some business to discuss and we don’t want to be disturbed.” 

There was an echo of her usual demanding attitude in her response and for some reason that recognizable mannerism appeared to somehow reassure the waiter. Tommy nodded but before he left he sent Jason a quick glance of intense dislike. Yet, it wasn’t the younger man’s animosity which bothered Jason but rather a sudden flash of familiarity as though he had seen him somewhere before but he couldn’t recall where or when. 

Jason’s very life depended on his acute awareness of both his surroundings and the people who populated them. He prodded his brain in an effort to remember the waiter, he knew for a fact he hadn’t been in the restaurant before. He seldom came to New York and he would never voluntarily choose to eat in a venue which was so obviously geared to a female clientele.

“Well, what did you want to tell me?” Laura’s impatient voice cut across his attempts to place their waiter against a different backdrop. “I thought you were in a big hurry to explain to me how I needed to behave myself up in the middle of nowhere.” 

Laura sounded like herself again, spoiled and egocentric and Jason glared at her, irritated that she had intruded upon his attempt to remember Tommy. “Yeah, that’s right,” he confirmed, “When you marry Spinelli there will be expectations about how you act. You will not embarrass him or hurt him in any way.”

“Or what?” She asked defiantly, her eyes sparkling with anger at Jason’s ultimatum.

Jason sighed as he reluctantly reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. He wished Laura could have just this once been reasonable and tried to see that she wasn’t the only one who was affected by this marriage but that Spinelli was also. Yet, he suddenly realized, it wasn’t that she didn’t know he was involved in their mutual future but that she simply didn’t care about him or his concerns in the least. Well, Jason did care deeply about Spinelli and his happiness. So, it was up to him to try and make sure that this careless and impetuous young woman not damage his friend’s self esteem or break his spirit. With renewed resolve, he pulled the small manila envelope out and passed it across the table to Laura.

“What’s this?” She questioned, taking the envelope and opening the flap.

Jason didn’t say anything, he just waited while she spilled the contents out onto the table and started looking through them. There were a few moments of silence as Laura absorbed the materials in front of her.

Suddenly, without warning, she reached across the table and slapped Jason, “You bastard!” Her expression was venomous.

Jason’s cheek stung where Laura had hit him but the only indication of his anger at her attack was a slight twitch in a muscle below his right eye, “That’s right,” he said coolly, “I’m a bastard and I will do anything I have to protect Spinelli.”

“Obviously that included invading my privacy without a second thought,” Laura’s voice quivered with outrage. 

“Yeah, it did,” Jason admitted unrepentantly, “I needed to know everything about you so I could decide what it would mean for Spinelli.”

Laura looked back down at the pictures scattered on the table, she reached to pick up one and looking at it, she asked, “What do you intend to do with these? You can’t send them to my father.” It was a declarative statement but her voice trembled as she spoke.

“I’m not going to do anything with them beyond showing them to you for now,” Jason replied.

She stared up at him, her eyes were huge in her face which was fully devoid of color except for the slight pink tinge of blush applied across her cheekbones, “What do you want me to do?” 

Her voice was dull and defeated sounded and Jason felt a twinge of remorse. He didn’t really like being in this position of blackmailing someone whose worst sin was being self-involved and reckless. Then he reminded himself that this was about Spinelli’s future and to insure that was as happy as possible given the circumstances, he would do whatever was required of him. 

“It’s not that difficult,” he told her, “You just have to follow the rules.”

He was on the receiving end of one of Laura’s patented glares but she might as well have saved her energy, Jason was impervious to someone’s disapproval or dislike. In a long existence spent trying to avoid bullets and stay out of jail, nasty glances were of supreme indifference to him. 

“What rules?” She asked him warily.

Jason used his fingers to begin to tick off his requirements, “You will be accompanied by guards, _our_ guards,” Jason added repressively as he saw a sudden glint of calculation appear in Laura’s eyes, he ignored the scowl on her face as he continued, “Everywhere you go and they will be instructed to tell me if you behave in an inappropriate fashion.”

“What does that mean-inappropriate?” Laura interjected suspiciously.

“Anything in these pictures for instance,” Jason tapped a photograph, “Would be considered as such. Going to bars and hotels in the company with strange men isn’t acceptable conduct. Drinking to excess and partaking of any type of illegal substance won’t be tolerated.”

“You can’t police my life!” Laura was indignant, “Even my father doesn’t do that.”

“You mean he doesn’t know what you do,” Jason apprehended the truth as he saw the flush of anger at being caught out color Laura’s cheeks. “It won’t be like that around me. I don’t trust you and you’ve been warned that I will be watching you myself and also through my men.”

“All right, I won’t party anymore. Is that all then?” Laura asked sullenly, 

Laura’s easy compliance with his dictates troubled Jason but that wasn’t the only thing which concerned him about this confrontation. Her patent resentment toward Jason’s strictures indicated that he had made a new enemy and he worried she might take her pique out on an unsuspecting Spinelli. “No, there’s more that has to do specifically with Spinelli. You need to treat him with the same courtesy and respect that he will show you.”

“What the hell is so special about him that you and that lady lawyer and all those people at lunch are so fucking concerned about protecting him?” Laura stared in frustration at Jason.

Jason shrugged, he wasn’t’ about to try and explain Spinelli special qualities to this woman, even though she was his putative fiancée. “He’s a good person and people are loyal to him. There’s no benefit to him which comes from marrying you, especially considering how you’ve treated him. Yet, he’s doing it because he thinks it will help other people not the least of which is you.”

“Help me?” Laura scoffed, her face contorted and ugly, “That’s rich, none of this is to help me. It’s about business for you and Mr. Corinthos. Then there’s my father who is managing to kill two birds with one stone by making an alliance and getting rid of me at the same time.” She paused for a moment and then added, “I can just guess what is in it for your precious Damian. After all, without paying for it, an arranged marriage is probably his only hope of ever getting laid.” To illustrate her point, she made a crude gesture with her hands which left nothing to the imagination. 

Jason was furious. He was beginning to think she wore only white to deflect attention away from the fact that she was nothing more than a bitch in heat. “No,” he said fiercely, “That’s where you’re wrong in measuring everyone against your own standards. He feels sorry for you. I only wish I could manage to show him who you are before you get married because he sure as hell is going to find out afterward.”

“If you care about him so much and you want to protect him from me, then why are you promoting this stupid wedding in the first place?” Laura’s tone was almost pleading as though Jason could resolve Spinelli’s untenable situation and, in the process, release her as well.

Jason shook his head, “I don’t want it but Sonny has convinced Spinelli that he needs to go ahead with this because it’s important to people he wants to help and cares about.”

“Help you, is what you mean” Laura said with her own shrewd flash of insight, “That’s why you’re so desperate to protect him because you feel guilty that he’s caught in this position.” There was a tinge of regret in her voice as though she wished there were someone in her world who would do battle for her the way Jason was doing for Spinelli. 

Jason just stared at her, his emotions and thus, by default, his face once more under control.  "You won't intentionally hurt or cause Spinelli embarrassment," he repeated flatly.

Laura cocked her head and looked at him cynically, "You can't force me to love him."

"I don't _want_ you to love him," Jason's tone was calculated to imply that Laura's love was something which would contaminate Spinelli were he even to be exposed to it, "I need you to live with him in a way that makes sure he doesn't end up regretting marrying you."

"What about my regrets?" Laura asked, her tone a self-pitying whine, "It's my marriage too."

Jason stared across the table at the young woman and for a minute he saw an echo of a small, blonde girl with big blue eyes crying in vain for a mother who never came, "I can't help you," he said with an oddly gentle finality.

Laura's body stiffened in automatic rejection of his compassion.  Her face hardened and became a female version of Jason's, all sharp angles and implacable planes.  "What exactly will you do if I make your golden boy unhappy?"  

Her challenge was blatant and Jason responded immediately, "Then I'll use these," he flicked his fingers at one of the pictures sprawled on the table between them. 

"You can't show them to my father," Laura repeated her statement from earlier but now her voice quavered, "He would just repress them."  She bit her lip as she looked at Jason in a weak attempt at defiance.  

He nodded in easy agreement, "I know and that isn't what I would do with them.  I'd send them to the papers."

Laura blanched, "You can't do that," she whispered all her bravado instantaneously evaporating at Jason's words.  "He'd kill me."  

Jason didn't doubt that her conclusion was valid.  He briefly wondered what it would be like to reside in the world which ran parallel to his shadow existence. The one where parents loved their children and protected them rather than using them as pawns in their own self-aggrandizement.  He thought it must have compensations to override its biggest drawback of boredom.  He guessed that if he could have avoided all the trauma Michael had endured, save Spinelli from this loveless union and maybe even prevent Laura from being literally sacrificed on the altar of her father's ambition and greed that perhaps he might have made the trade.  Still, that wasn't his call, he could only do the best he could in this world, it was far too late to switch over.  

He just regarded Laura calmly, not responding to the alteration in combativeness or attempting to assuage her fear.  Laura was greatly agitated, the tears which had threatened earlier were back leaving black trails of miserably futile fury running down her cheeks.  She twisted her hands and released some of her pent up rage by grabbing several of the pictures and savagely ripping them into glossy pieces of confetti.  Jason sat unmoved as she vented her feelings of being trapped and manipulated.  He only required one thing of Laura and once he received it this meeting would be over.  

 Several minutes later, the worst of the storm was passed.  Laura's spontaneous emotional outburst was over.  She sat tiredly n her chair, her breasts heaving as she panted from her exertions while the occasional hiccuping sob escaped from her.  The table surface was entirely coated with torn up pieces of photographs and white fragments of documents.

"All right," Laura said in a toneless voice, "I'll do as you want."  She picked up her napkin first blowing her nose with it and then after folding it over wiped her face on the fresh part.  She stared down at the streaks of black coating the white linen.  "I look a mess," she stated it as an indifferent fact.  

Jason looked at her keenly as though to determine the sincerity of her commitment.  "You know I mean it?" He required clarification before letting her go.  

Laura nodded dully, "I know it," she confirmed without any elaboration.

It was the best he could do to safeguard Spinelli while he endured this difficult period in his life.  Jason didn't think it would be for that long.  One way or another he couldn't see this marriage lasting, it would break apart from a combination of internal and external pressures and he was determined that Spinelli would come out it as unscathed as possible.  

"Can I go?" Laura's asked in a small, defeated voice.

"Yeah," Jason reached for his wallet and threw several bills on the table.  "Let's get out of here."  He stood up and waited for Laura.

She pushed away from the table and then standing up she straightened her pantsuit and brushed her hair back from her face.  "I'm ready," she announced looking Jason squarely in the face.  

He felt an unwilling twinge of admiration for her as she stalked ahead of him passing through the restaurant looking neither right nor left.  He trailed behind her and could hear low voices pitched to precisely catch their attention.  


"I guess there's trouble in paradise."

"She looks an absolute wreck."

"If he doesn't want Laura, and who could blame him, I'm entirely available."

Finally, they made their way out of that stifling, poisonous atmosphere and were once again breathing the preferred city air filled with nothing more toxic than exhaust fumes.

“I guess I’ll have to cross that place off my list of restaurants,” Laura said to Jason as they stood shoulder to shoulder in an awkward and temporary camaraderie generated by their mutual survival of the social gauntlet.

He gave a small smile of approval indicating respect for her resilience, “It’s no loss, you can get a much better burger at Kelly’s and for half the cost.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Of course it comes in the usual hamburger colors, no white except for the onion and the mayonnaise.”

For the first time in their short and mutually antagonistic acquaintance, Laura genuinely laughed. It was an open-mouthed, full-bellied laugh and Jason felt a sudden pang of regret that such a lovely girl was hidden behind the hard shell of a woman who felt the only thing she had to offer the world was her physical assets. 

“I’ll have to check it out. I think maybe the white thing was just an experiment anyway.” She was gracious in accepting his teasing. Laura moved away toward Dino who was standing by the curb and holding the car door open for her. Laura turned back and gave a quick, almost shy wave. “Bye,” she called before ducking into the car where she was instantly shielded from Jason’s view by the tinting on the windows. 

Jason shook his head in honest bemusement. He wasn’t sure if he appreciated the softening of his feelings toward Spinelli’s fiancée. With a sigh of relief he turned toward his motorcycle faithfully awaiting him. More than ever he was glad he had chosen this mode of transportation. He hoped the ride home in the fresh spring air would clear his mind and bring all aspects of this damnable situation into a clearer perspective. 

Surveying the mess left behind on the table, Tommy grimaced irritably. Sighing, he started sweeping the torn pieces of photographs and paper off the table and onto the tray he brought along to collect the dirty plates and utensils. He knocked a spoon off the table and it bounced under the table. Crouching down to retrieve it, Tommy saw a forgotten picture lying on the floor. Curious, he reached for it and backing out from under the table looked at the photograph with a puzzled frown. 

It was a candid shot of Laura Maretti and a man leaning up against the brick wall of a poorly lit alley. The couple was kissing, a deep mouthed exchange of tongues. Laura’s white-clad back was to the photographer but the man’s face was plainly visible, a dramatic study in black and white as half his face lurked in shadow and the other half was dimly highlighted. 

“What the hell?” Tommy muttered under his breath as he stared down at the picture of himself and Laura making out after a night spent drinking and dancing at a long succession of steadily seedier night clubs. 

He wondered who that man was accompanying Laura today. It was obvious these pictures were the reason he was so upset but why should she be? She was young and unattached. She could date whoever she wanted to, even a low rent waiter for the temporary, the very temporary-it appeared-thrill of it. 

The last thing Tommy did before he left the now cleaned table was to scoop up the pile of bills Jason had left behind. “At least the son of a bitch is a good tipper,” he admitted as he headed back to the kitchen. 

" _Hold me close and hold me fast, the magic spell you cast, this is la vie en rose_."

Jason looked over at Spinelli, his singing had aroused him from his memories of the past several months.  "What's that you're singing?"  He asked curiously.

Spinelli shot a startled glance at Jason, his expression was dazed.  "What did you say, Stone Cold?"  It was clear that just like Jason, he had been lost in his own thoughts.

"The song, what is it?" He repeated as the rich notes of a trumpet filled the air between them and then rose into the air and trailed behind the speeding car in an auditory emission.

"Oh," Spinelli nodded his head in comprehension, a reflective smile on his face, "It's called 'La Vie En Rose' and this version by Satchmo is second only to the immortal styling of the original songstress, the sparrow, Edith Piaf which she naturally would sing in French."

"Naturally," Jason said automatically, most of what Spinelli had related to him sweeping over his head in a similar fashion to which the air around the convertible flowed over the windscreen and past the passengers, creating a zone of reasonable quietude and stillness.  "It's pretty," he added to show that he was engaged in the conversation.  

"Pretty!" Spinelli uttered scornfully, "The Jackal would beg to differ with such a trite characterization.  It is a musical anthem about love and longing phrased with deceptively simple lyrics and a stirring melody to create a timeless standard which will be honored by lovers for generations to come."  

Jason smiled at Spinelli's response, he'd missed his roommate and it was nice to fall back into the usual conversational patterns between the two of them.  "Yeah," he said grinning, "Like I said, it's pretty."

An irritated snort erupted from his passenger, but when Jason glanced over at him there was a contented expression on Spinelli's face as he finished singing the song. His tuneful tenor acted as the perfect counterpart to Louis Armstrong's raspy but iconic voice, " _Give your heart and soul to me and life will always be, la vie en rose_."

As they sped down the road heading back to Port Charles, Jason felt a renewed resolve to find a way to release Spinelli from this detrimental engagement. Spinelli’s argument that there wasn't any reason to not marry Laura Maretti was, as of this evening, suddenly null and void.  It was evident that Spinelli’s interaction with Molly Davis had altered everything.  The signs were all too clear to be missed, Spinelli was infatuated with her and Jason couldn't be more delighted at his change in attitude.

There was an elegant logic to the potential match and Jason was going to do everything he could to encourage their connection while at the same time diminishing and destroying the other, which in reality was little more than a glorified business arrangement.  All that Jason cared about was Spinelli's ultimate happiness and he would do whatever he could do to ensure it.  After years of receiving unstinting loyalty and friendship from the younger man, it was the least Jason owed him. Yet, for just this moment, for just tonight, it was enough to simply to have hope for the future reignited and a present satisfaction in having his family reunited.  

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. A Dream Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Molly's turn to tell her part of the story.

With a triumphant crow, Molly retrieved the small package wrapped in a faded, blue bandanna.  She discovered the bundle exactly where she had buried it years ago beneath a miscellaneous pile of old photograph albums and magazines which had been pushed to very back of her closet. 

“Found it,” she gloated quietly to herself as she scurried back to her familiar bed covered in an ecru colored, candlewick bedspread.

The room was plainly decorated with neutral tones of ivory, beige or off-white.  The only splash of bold color came from a few landscapes painted by Molly herself which were hung at haphazard intervals upon the walls of the room.  It was a room meant for contemplation.  She intended for it to act as a counterpoint to the never ending parade of people both fictional and real, all of whom were oftentimes blurred together into new prototypes of Molly’s own making.  These varied people combined with the incessant stream of ideas and images that crowded her mind, from when she first awoke in the morning until she finally fell asleep at night, left Molly exhausted from the ceaseless activity of her ever lively brain. 

Molly redecorated her bedroom during her senior year in high school.  The decision to change her surroundings was a planned attempt to try and create a serene external environment.  She thought the influence of such an ambiance might then be mimicked by an inward ability to control her scattered thoughts. Unfortunately, her labors were a failed experiment in utilizing interior design as a method for regulating an excessively exuberant mind.  In truth, it was only recently that a slightly older and more mature Molly was slowly starting to manage to learn how to regulate her overactive imagination rather than permitting it to be the other way around.  Still, she also readily recognized that her vivid imagination was the wellspring of her creativity, her artistic sense and her never ending delighted discovery of the world surrounding her, and, as such, Molly cherished it.

Yet, there were many times when she was grateful to have learned some techniques of mental control which enabled her to focus on one thought or topic without being distracted.  It had been Molly’s time at the Sorbonne, where she faced the inherent challenge and daunting discipline of the art history program, which had finally taught her the value of looking before leaping.  Somehow though, on this first magical day back in her homeland, all that effort in developing self-awareness and self-control had airily flown out the French doors of Molly’s bedroom.  Their desertion left behind in Molly a very familiar jumble of thoughts and emotions which culminated in a not unpleasant sensation of breathless anticipation.

She relished this time alone and the quietude of the house now that her mother and sisters were safely retired for the night.  Molly was happy to be home, delighted to see her extended family and was eagerly looking forward to getting back into the routine of living at the lake house.  Still, for long, seemingly endless hours Molly had also been craving solitude and the opportunity to dwell on her serendipitous meeting with Damian Spinelli, of all the unexpected people, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 

She had dashed into the building on an impulse, seeking merely to get out of the rain rather than for any other more weighty purpose. After all, Molly had her fill of museums during her time in Paris and she didn’t particularly feel an urge to visit another one, no matter how deservedly famous. Molly really intended to spend the afternoon in Central Park, reacquainting herself with New York and being back in the states in general.    It was surprisingly peculiar to hear everyone around her speaking English, albeit oftentimes with foreign accents. 

Molly was grown accustomed to being surrounded by the liquid and mesmerizing flow of French with the accompanying Gallic overtones embodied through body language and hand movements.  It was an unexpected shock to Molly’s altered ears to hear the harsher sounds of her countrymen with their eastern pronunciation and borough-specific dialects. 

‘Anyone who thinks Americans speak a bland, neutral form of English ought to spend a few hours in New York City in order to disabuse themselves of that notion,’ she thought to herself with overtones of anthropological righteousness, while idly drifting around the outskirts of Central Park. 

Meeting someone at the museum wasn't a present consideration in Molly's mind.  She just needed to while away some time while she waited out the sudden spring storm.  Yet, apparently destiny had an entirely separate plan from her own intentions set in place for Molly Davis.  Even with his back turned to her, she recognized him immediately as he stood before the  _French Peasant Girl_. Several years had passed since she had last seen him but that didn't appear to matter in the least. 

Her heart rate increased and her palms grew sweaty, but none of that internal nervousness showed in the slightest as she approached Spinelli and made her opening comment.  Indeed, it was through the innocent agency of her initial remark that Spinelli instantaneously transferred his momentary and fleeting fascination with a painted girl onto the live model standing next to him.  Molly wanted to believe the switching of his attention would lead to something which was both more real and permanent in its composition than a chance meeting of acquaintances.   Most important of all to Molly, was her prerequisite that Spinelli’s regard be not one of his famed infatuations but truly about Molly herself, without any shielding veil of artifice or glamour to cause it to sputter and die in the cold hard light of everyday reality.

The simple truth was that Diane's shrewd observations about Molly's romantic extra-curricular activities, while away in France, were much more on the mark than Alexis' hopeful denials.  Anyone who was young, reasonably attractive and in possession of a healthy sex drive wasn't going to be celibate during a several year sojourn in the City of Light and Molly herself certainly wasn't an exception to that well validated truism. 

Much as she had done for Kristina years earlier, Sam took Molly to get her first gynecological examination and a prescription for birth control pills.  The primary difference between this occasion and the first time Sam performed such a private and personal service for her one of her sisters, was that Alexis herself tacitly endorsed her older daughter’s guidance.  Additionally, in Molly’s particular situation, the act was performed for prophylactic reasons rather than for imminent cause.  Although, Molly wasn't a virgin when she went to France, she was only the veteran of a single sexual encounter. 

Once she was ensconced in Paris, Molly quickly discovered that eating, drinking, voracious conversation and yes, sex, were all considered equally important to the educational pursuits of attending classes and completing projects with élan.   Amongst her particular group of friends, Molly was neither the most promiscuous nor was she the least.  She took her pleasure where she found it, time and inclination permitting.  She required her partners to be smart, funny and not overly ambitious.  Beyond that she wasn't picky because she was fully cognizant of the fact that they weren't any more to her than a dalliance.  Her heart was carefully guarded, a fact she acknowledged to herself but-until today-hadn’t quite realized why. 

“Stupid little girl," Molly chided herself softly as she peered at the photograph revealed as one of the treasures stored away in the blue cloth so many years ago.  She clutched the picture in her hand, her once more sweaty hand, she was mildly dismayed to discover, making it twice today that such an uncontrolled and undignified reaction had overtaken her body without her mind’s overt acquiescence.

As she effortlessly recalled the craziness of that long ago day, Molly ran her hand over the smooth glass covering the surface of the picture set in its cheap, non-descript frame. The non-wedding, the non-bride and non-groom, all followed by the non-reception had conspired to make it a memorable occasion.  After the non-ceremony, everyone in attendance adjourned to Jake’s. There Maxie, giddy with her unexpected matrimonial reprieve, imbibed glass after glass of champagne and laughed loudly, as she danced, and smiled and cut the chic designer cake Kate Howard donated to the non-proceedings.  

Superficially, Spinelli matched Maxie’s liveliness, but anyone who cared enough to scrutinize his demeanor would catch a series of unguarded glances sent toward his non-wife.  His expression was one of fleeting and heartbreaking desolation before he recalled himself and once again donned a joyful and carefree façade. Molly was one of those unseen observers in conjunction with Jason.  She frequently caught the older man looking intently at his young roommate throughout the duration of the reception.  It took a keen eye to detect his subtle surveillance as he remained stoically detached from the frivolity of the celebration beyond his subdued concern for Spinelli and a gentle tenderness he would exhibit anytime Molly's sister, Sam, spoke to him.

Molly sighed as she gazed pensively around her bedroom dimly lit by a small, light with a pink, ruffled lampshade sitting incongruously on her night table.  The lamp was one of the few relics remaining from her earlier girlhood when she had indulged her shameless tendency to enshrine anything which harbored within it the slightest tint of romanticism.  Her thoughts once again drifted back to the reception as she savored her memories of that distant day.  Molly fondly remembered the duet she sang with Morgan and the sense of maturity engendered within her by first sanctioned visit to an actual bar.  

Still, her strongest memory was of her sneaking, unexpressed delight in the realization that the actual occasion she had come to witness was, as far as young Molly had been concerned anyway, null and void.  Maxie and Spinelli could gush on and on about being non-spouses and sharing unwedded bliss all they wished.  Even at her tender age, Molly was shrewd enough to know that there was neither a recognized social nor a legal connection between the formally dressed young couple partying the evening away.  Maxie and Spinelli were nothing more than what they had been prior to the non-wedding which was a couple in a committed relationship. Molly couldn't have been happier, euphoric really, at such an uncanny and unexpected twist of fate.

At Jake's bar that long ago evening, there were four people who were delighted with the alteration of the occasion from a formally binding wedding ceremony to an outlandish celebration of non-commitment.  Mac was thrilled his little girl wasn't marrying a man he despised for his connections to the mob as much as his bizarre mannerisms and speech patterns.   In joyful reaction to the happy news, he became a boisterous, loud drunk sharing his newfound bliss with all who would listen and snuggling up to Alexis, Molly's not unwilling mother.   Then there was the bride herself, Maxie, who was the undeniable life of the party, second only to her father.  Her wild exuberance was due entirely to her overwhelming relief which was wonderfully expressed via her newly dubbed status of non-wife.  Jason’s more muted gratification was distinctly less showy in response to the unlooked for outcome, particularly when contrasted against both Mac and Maxie’s attention getting behavior.  His reaction was only visible to those few present who were shrewd enough to look beneath his noncommittal visage in order to observe the spark of quiet satisfaction which dwelled deep within his eyes.  The fourth and final person at the reception to be elated that the wedding didn't take place was Molly herself. 

She went to the wedding resigned to the realization that, by the end of the ceremony, Spinelli would be even farther out of her reach then he had been when she awoke earlier that morning.  Oftentimes, Molly’s innate common sense was entirely disregarded by those around her because it was so overlaid by her endless babble about true love and star crossed lovers.  Yet, her practical nature allowed her to acknowledge that she was fully estranged from holding any realistic romantic hopes about Spinelli.  The unconquerable chasm between them was not only created by the wide difference in their ages and the sad fact that Spinelli only ever noted her presence as Sam's precocious little sister, but, most pertinent of all, was due to the incontrovertible truth that he was in love with, engaged to and marrying someone else. 

Spinelli’s unfailing kindness and courtesy toward a pre-adolescent girl was a behavior he essayed purely as a part of his innately generous personality.  He acted without any attendant awareness of the impact his thoughtful deeds could have on such an impressionable mind.  Spinelli was the epitome of all the traits a young, starry-eyed Molly Davis sought in her personification of true love.  He was the distant Romeo to her yearning Juliet, the eloquent Robert Browning to her equally erudite Elizabeth Barrett.  Perhaps, Molly sometimes even pondered, they were fated to become a modern day incarnation of those famous progenitors of tragically forbidden love, Tristan and Iseult. 

Molly constantly marveled at how it was remotely possible that soulful, sensitive Damian Spinelli could ever truly love the brittle, superficial, fashion maven Maxie Jones.  From Molly’s biased perspective, it appeared that the shrilly irritating blonde respected and understand nothing of her fiancée’s poetic and gentle soul and matchless intelligence.  Molly’s only consolation was her stalwart conviction that eventually Spinelli would have to recover his senses and finally realize how tragically remiss he had been to ever have entrusted his tender heart to such unworthy hands. 

Meanwhile, after having reluctantly accepted the reality that the two of them were incomprehensibly a committed couple, Molly was determined to put the intervening time it took for Spinelli to discover the error of his ways to good use by naturally overcoming the worst handicap in the inequity which currently precluded any likelihood of a romance between Spinelli and herself.  In other words, her age.  After the passage of enough years, it would then be time for Spinelli to acknowledge what she, Molly, knew all along which was the simple and irrefutable fact that they were soul mates, intended only for one another.

At the not quite adolescent age of twelve, the potential of the years involved in awaiting Spinelli’s inevitable epiphany was inconsequential because Molly was incapable of fathoming the awful inevitability of the affects of time.  Waiting for Spinelli to be free was Molly's penance, the price she would pay to find happily ever after.  Yet, the one thing she never countenanced, never even thought of, was that it might not happen precisely as she had imagined it all those years ago, lying in this very same bed with this very same lamp casting a soft and hazy glow onto her starry eyes.  Though Molly would never openly admit it, even to herself, it was an immutable concept which her heart, both softer and less chronologically advanced then her all too cynical mind, still held fast in its deepest recesses that true love conquered all. 

Molly rather anticipated the day of the wedding with the same perverse degree of masochism which comes from relentlessly prodding at a sore tooth wherein the pain elicited acts as its own reward.  Thus, Molly would force herself to sit quiescently in the congregation and watch her heart's heart be given away freely to that unworthy other who would surely only take it into her careless keeping in order to one day soon destroy it. 

The wedding would afterward be followed by a proscribed and lengthy period involving much trial and tribulation on both Spinelli and Molly’s parts as they struggled through a fruitless and lonely existence separate from each other.  Yet, it was fated that these harsh travails they each endured would only serve to make their eventual  and destined union even more poignantly bittersweet.  Then finally the time would come when Molly, the heroine of her own story cobbled together from hundreds of more famous and enduring tales, would make her singular romantic mark on history as she rescued Damian Spinelli from the heartbreak of loving both too well and, most definitely, too unwisely. 

As Molly sat in her chair at the wedding, she was actually envisioning this triumphant future taking place.  She and Spinelli were alone together in a sunny meadow, the verdant grass scattered with the pure white and buttercup yellow accented purity of daisies.  Spinelli's head lay nestled in Molly's lap, his green eyes lazily staring up into Molly's golden brown ones.  She was wearing a lacy white summer dress and he was attired in a crisp, white shirt, suspenders and tan linen trousers.  Both the setting and the clothing were clearly inspired by the _Great Gatsby_ which Molly was currently reading.  So, intent was she on her internal fantasy, set several years hence, that Molly at first neglected to notice the furor erupting around her.  It wasn't until Police Commissioner Scorpio actually fainted that she at last realized something momentous had just occurred.

At first, Molly was peculiarly disappointed at this unexpected turn of events. Her entirely imaginary romance with Spinelli was so clearly delineated within her mind that any deviation from her elaborately constructed fictional relationship perturbed her greatly.  After all, she had incorporated the detested marriage of Spinelli and Maxie into the fabric of her dream as one of the major obstacles she and her future lover would need to overcome in their star-crossed progression toward true love and a happily ever after finale.  Molly, in her overweening happiness, and in a generous forgiveness of spirit, combined with the tiniest soupcon of revenge, even planned for Maxie to be at her wedding to Spinelli. 

Maxie would play the role of that old stand by without which no perfect wedding ceremony was ever quite complete-a spurned lover.  Molly could clearly see Maxie in her mind's eye, crying and dressed in dirty rags.  Perhaps she would be clutching a bottle in a brown paper bag as she stood swaying before the lovers, her words slurred and tear-choked, while she declared her undying love and devotion for Spinelli.  She might even dramatically declare that she would kill herself if Spinelli went through with marrying Molly, and then clumsily drag out a gun to support her assertion.  The guests would gasp in shock and fear, knocking over chairs as they scampered to get out of range.  It might even be possible that an enraged Maxie would change her mind and point the weapon at the bride instead.  Yet, Spinelli would immediately step between the two women, acting as a human shield to protect his one true love.  That moment would forever define all three of them.  Maxie, belatedly realizing all she had lost, would shakily lower the gun and then, with a  piercing wail of anguish, turn away from the couple and run sobbing from the church, her life now a satisfyingly irredeemable ruin.

With shining eyes, Molly would run into Spinelli's arms, crying out ecstatically, "My hero!" and they would kiss passionately as their surroundings dissolved into a soft white mist.

At least that is how the dramatic scenario had always played out in Molly's imagination until the unexpected twist of Maxie and Spinelli’s non-wedding intruded upon her carefully orchestrated story.  It took her until the reception was well underway, before Molly managed to reconfigure this precise vision of hers and Spinelli's preordained future and fit it into the context of the unanticipated and rather annoying outcome of actual events.  By that point in the proceedings, Molly had convinced herself that perhaps this day's unforeseen events would work equally well in laying the groundwork for their own individual trials and tribulations which would eventually conclude in their coming together in wedded bliss. 

After all, a heart-sore Spinelli, veteran of one non-marriage and several affairs, for the useful benefits of seasoning, suddenly sounded much more appealing than the more sordid prospect of a divorced, marriage-shy, and bitter Jackal.  However it precisely played out, Molly was fervently convinced that on one not too hugely distant day, Spinelli would look at her across the room and see her standing there before him.  At that exact moment of visualization, Spinelli would suddenly realize that his life had been nothing but an elongated and frustrating search for the very perfection which had lain fallow and carelessly unattended beneath his heretofore unsuspecting gaze. 

"That's almost exactly how it happened too," Molly marveled to herself as she unconsciously caressed the picture tightly gripped in her hand. 

The photograph was taken at that fateful reception, a memento from an event now almost a decade in the past.  Molly was standing next to Spinelli, who was bending down to match her shorter height.  His arm was wrapped around her shoulder as he grinned into the camera, a flush, composed of equal parts champagne and love, coloring his cheeks.  Molly was gazing up at him, the full adoration of her crush frozen forever in the imprint of the camera's unbiased eye.  For years, Molly slept with this picture under her pillow, hidden from the inimical and suspicious gaze of her mother and the equally dangerous teasing of her older sister. 

It wasn't until the night of her sixteenth birthday, upon which occasion Alexis and Sam collaborated in throwing a surprise party for her at the Metro Court, when Molly finally and painfully was constrained to relinquish her girlhood infatuation.  Spinelli was in attendance and he wasn't alone.  He was there with some brunette girl who possessed the most mesmerizing blue eyes Molly had ever seen but in every other characteristic was eminently forgettable except for the wistful look on her face.  Molly belatedly recognized that Spinelli’s companion’s expression was the identical twin to the one adorning her own face.   Together, in their bereft abandonment, they stared at an oblivious Jackal who was busy himself gazing longingly at a nonchalant Maxie Jones while she gaily danced and flirted with Johnny Zacchara. 

Something cracked within Molly as a result of this pathetic exhibition on the part of all three of them and she was suddenly furious with Spinelli for leading her on.  Then, a brief second later, her anger was turned inward as she recognized the idiocy of her blaming him for what he could neither know of concerning her feelings nor clearly even control with regard to his own unrequited infatuation.  Regardless, Molly found herself to be suddenly emotionally altered.  The scales, composed of fantasy and wistful dreaming, were fallen away from her eyes and it wasn't possible to replace them, nor did Molly wish to.  She was done being an impractical dreamer since it appeared that Spinelli was quite capable of doing enough of that for the both of them.  Where had it gotten him but still trapped within Maxie's toxic orbit, worshipping someone who would never see him as more than a dear friend? 

Well, Molly Davis wasn't going to follow the hapless hacker down such a dreary and unproductive life path.  She would live and be open to the opportunities life offered.  Most importantly of all, she would demand love which was reciprocated rather than wallowing in the dubious pleasures of being caught upon the whims and fancies of someone who couldn't even appreciate what you were offering him.

That very night Molly removed the cherished picture from beneath her pillow and almost destroyed it without pause as her bruised heart cried out for retribution.  She went so far as to remove the fragile thing from beneath its protective glass covering and was contemplating ripping it to shreds when she reconsidered and instead hid it deep away in her top bureau drawer.  There, tucked out of sight but not mind, it resided next to a single cultured pearl suspended from a silver chain, a piece of jewelry newly acquired that eventful evening. 

The necklace was Spinelli’s birthday gift to Molly presented with a sweet smile and a gentle kiss placed upon her smooth, upturned cheek.  It was an impeccable choice for a girl on the cusp of womanhood and as such Molly couldn’t bear to look at it.  She realized everything the lovely and delicate present symbolized in terms of how Spinelli perennially viewed her as Sam’s little sister, growing up perhaps but still not registering on his radar as a viable romantic prospect. So, the innocently offending necklace was exiled along with the betraying picture, both locked away in unrelieved darkness for the simple crime of not delivering on love’s promise. 

Even Molly’s angry epiphany wasn’t enough of a magical moment of self-discovery to spontaneously cure all that ailed her.  The habit of claiming Spinelli’s future as her own was too strongly entrenched in her to be exorcised in one fell swoop of revelation.  Molly still felt a sharp pang somewhere beneath her sternum whenever she would run into Spinelli at Kelly's or at some social event, and both were exceedingly common occurrences frequently generated by their overlapping worlds.  Spinelli, perpetually insensible of Molly’s inner turmoil, was unfailingly kind to her.  As she grew older, they even occasionally engaged in discussions of literature and theater and art, all topics near and dear to Molly's heart. 

Nor was Molly above feeling a mean frisson of satisfaction when Spinelli finally repudiated Maxie after she once again cheated on him during one of their numerous reconciliations. This break appeared to be the final one for the two of them as Maxie married Matt Hunter shortly afterward.  He and Spinelli had warred for Maxie's fickle affections throughout the intervening years since the non-wedding.  Ironically, it seemed that most of the people who were acquainted with all the members of this redundant triangle, viewed Spinelli the true victor in the final resolution of their rivalry.  They felt he was well rid of such a faithless paramour even though, at least on the surface, it appeared that Matt claimed the actual prize they had each fought over for so long. 

Molly only knew of the wedding through hearsay since neither she nor her family attended the nuptials as their loyalty lay with Maxie’s discarded non-groom.  Spinelli himself left Port Charles the day of the wedding and he did not return for six months.  Sam told her family that Jason was very worried about his young friend because he was entirely incommunicado while he was away nursing his broken heart.  With an unerring sense of exactly how long he could stay away without consequences, Spinelli returned to the city just as Jason was about to set out in determined search of him. 

Spinelli's return coincided with the time frame when Molly was leaving for college.  Thus, as a result of their occupying different physical locations, she hadn't seen him for several years until earlier today, though she naturally still occasionally thought about him.  Unfortunately, what Molly hadn’t realized, until their serendipitous chance encounter, was that every boy and man she had ever dated was being unconsciously compared against the benchmark of Damian Spinelli and each one came up lacking in one capacity or another.   

Yet, this revelatory insight was entirely immaterial because Molly no longer needed to compare, consciously or not, other suitors against Spinelli.  It apparently was a moot issue since the original template was once again in her orbit and this time he was as interested in her as she was in him.    Molly had been euphoric or at least that was the case until the casual mention of Spinelli's engagement by Sam.  Her younger self had suddenly reappeared and all those romantic notions of bygone years no longer seemed so silly and unattainable.  Still, surprisingly she wasn't crushed at the news, far from it.  No, for the first time in years, Molly was filled with purpose outside the world of academia.  She wanted something badly enough to fight for it.  She was no longer a dreamy, starry eyed girl of twelve but she also hadn't abandoned all her precepts of love and romance.  They were gradually awakening within her after years of lying dormant and this time she was determined to follow her heart rather than her mind. 

Molly wasn't naive, she was an iron clad melding of both her Cassadine and Lansing heritage and each of those lineages believed in claiming that which was owed them.  Idly she ran her fingers through the worn material of the blue bandanna and felt something hard and thin beneath her touch, Curiously, she spread open the fabric and gave a little gasp of surprise as she saw the delicate pearl necklace trapped within the folds of the bandanna. 

“I forgot about you,” Molly whispered into the still hush of her room. 

She rubbed at the blackened chain and looked at her fingers smudged with the transfer from the oxidation of the chain.  Molly understood all about the chemical reaction which discolored metals like silver, iron and copper.  She had to learn such things to fulfill her studies of the chemistry of paints.  Carefully, Molly reached over and placed the necklace, still held safely within its cloth nest, on her night table.  Then, she pulled up her pillow and tucked the picture of Spinelli and her back into its rightful place of old.  Dreamily, she lay her tired head back against the comfort of the feathered pillow, Molly was weary, exhausted really, but she couldn't sleep.  Her mind was too full of the day's events and every beat of her heart echoed deep within her thrumming to a repetitive rhythm of three syllables-Spin-nel-li. 

Her thoughts turned to the combined engagement and welcome home party tomorrow night at Uncle Sonny’s.  Molly could hardly wait for the festive occasion.  Her lips curved up in a cat-like smile of pure malice as she visualized the expression of unadulterated envy on the faces of Diane, Kate Howard and, most especially, Kristina, when they would finally get to see her dress.  She knew it was worthy of arousing lust in those who worshipped clothing.  It turned out that Molly herself wasn’t immune to the insidious lure of that siren call because when she saw this dress in the window of a small fashion house located in Provence she knew she must possess it. 

Molly wasn’t pretentious and, though her family didn’t lack for material goods or the funds to buy them, she was raised to not be frivolous with money.  Yet, over the course of her life as a child of divorce, her absentee father sent her substantial checks each year on her birthday, Christmas and any other occasion when he was feeling especially guilty in his neglect of her.  Most of the checks were promptly snatched from her grasp and sent off to reside in a variety of funds established by Alexis to ensure Molly’s future-her education, the ability to buy a home, and even trust funds for her, at the moment, nonexistent grandchildren.  Yet, some of the money was placed into an account which Molly was allowed to access on her eighteenth birthday.  She seldom dipped into it because her mother’s strictures on financial prudence were well ingrained in her younger daughter. 

However, the dress was just too much to pass up.  So, when Molly observed that several other women were also eyeing it, she decided that simply wouldn’t do and marched into the store and promptly purchased it, frugality be damned.  That was well over a year ago and the dress had languished unseen and unworn in its cardboard coffin lined with acid free tissue party.  Tomorrow night would be its debut and Molly absolutely knew that, draped within its designer folds, she could and would fight against this mafia princess for Spinelli’s heart.

Molly was getting sleepy even as her mind conjured up memories of the parties Sonny had previously hosted at Graystone Manor. Originally, in the earlier years, it had been all four of them hiding out in the shrubs, or later climbing up into the old embracing arms of a majestic oak which overhung the outdoor patio.  They were transfixed by the scene before them, their usual incessant chattering and arguing silenced as they watched the glamorous guests mill around. They appeared armored against hardship and deprivation, the women wearing beautiful flowing gowns of silk and taffeta while the men, acting as their gallant escorts, dressed in designer suits and the occasional tuxedo.  Unfamiliar, lush music, that none of them would be caught dead listening to on their own time, swirled through the summer night air and somehow, along with the full moon sailing overhead and the crystalline click of champagne glasses, made the scene complete in its transcendent magic.

“Isn’t it romantic?” Kristina would breathe out and not even Michael or Morgan snickered at her girlish wistfulness.

After the first few years, the quartet was splintered into two as Kristina and Michael metamorphosed into young adults and it was decreed they were of an age to join the revelry taking place on their father’s patio.  Now it was Kristina who wore dresses made of white satin with matching slippers peeping from beneath the sweeping hem.  She was accompanied by Michael, her small hand tucked trustingly into the crook of his arm.  It was quite obvious to his younger brother and cousin that Michael wasn’t as delighted to finally be at the party as his sister was.  His face was set in dull lines of duty while he valiantly warred with the impulse to tug off his tie just precisely as his Uncle Jason would be doing on the far side of the patio while standing next to Sam. 

Up above, hidden from view by lush leaf cover, Molly and Morgan were in sole possession of the secretive branches of the accommodating oak. They stared down with wide-eyed envy at their siblings transformed from their everyday selves into a reluctant prince and his ecstatic fairy princess.  Even marking the arrival of Spinelli, looking debonair in a suit obviously picked out for the private investigator by his date, Maxie, who was herself exquisitely dressed in a sheath of shimmering silver fabric, wasn’t enough to entirely derail Molly’s pleasure in the scene unfolding below her. 

Tonight, it was Molly’s turn to utter, Kristina’s stock phrase, “Isn’t it romantic?”   

Molly might have said it with more wistfulness than would be Kristina’s wont as she envisaged herself in Spinelli’s arms while Maxie was magically spirited away to a fashion show in Italy, but she still meant it.  Sonny’s parties were the epitome of elegance and even a teenaged Morgan found himself nodding in reluctant agreement, feeling as he did so that he was somehow compromising his burgeoning manhood. 

Molly’s lips curved up into a wistful smile of contentment as she drowsily contemplated tomorrow night, “After all,” she whispered staring up at the darkened ceiling upon which played a vision of her and Spinelli dancing on the fairy-lit patio, “It’s only an engagement party, not a wedding.”  With a final soft exhalation, Molly drifted off to sleep, already dreaming of being held safe and secure in the arms of the man who soon would be hers. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are always appreciated.


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